TS *3 5 
.ZtTl ti + 3 



jWODERN 
JUSTICE' 




Copyright, 1906, 

by 

RHODA O. R. REICHEL 




RHODA O. R. REICHEL 



Modern Justice 

A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS 



By 
Rhoda 0. R. Reichel 



PUBLISHED BY 

RHODA O. R. REICHEL 

St, Paul, Minn, 
1906 



LIBRARY of GONGBESS 

Two CoDies Received 

MAY 31 1906 

. Copyright Entry i- 

rltnr-ift 'fOQ 

CLASS ItC XXc. No. 






PERSONS REPRESENTED 



Brandenpells Clothing Manufacturer. 

Rosa His wife. 

Emilie His Sister (an old maid). 

Stella His Niece. 

Lena A Servant. 

Lange Business Partner. 

Jacob Porter. 

Bachmann Manager. 

Selkofsky • • • • Foreman. 

Sam His Right Hand. 

Jutta Sam's Wife. 

Ike Rosenwater 

Roller 

Kruse 

HlNTSE 

LlNDE 

Dohring ^Employes. 

SCHULTZE 

MULLER 

ISIDOR 

Schmidt 

Mrs. Mayer 

Mrs. Lansky Stella's Friend. 

Mrs. Geissler 

Lorens Artist. 

Moses 

Mrs. Soupa 

Groth Barkeeper. 

Maxel Bartender. 

BURGDORF 

Helling Journalist. 

Romeo 

Milton Shoe Manufacturer. 

Four women, a little girl, a young lad, several Jews, people, chief of 
police, and three officers. 

Place: Acts I, II, and III in Austria; IV and V in America. 
Time: Acts IV and V, Present; I, II and III, six years past. 



ACT I 



Office; To right and left a door. In center, near wall, a small table 
and two chairs. To the left a desk; near the wall a buffet with differ- 
ent bottles of liquor, wine and cigars. 

Lange. (Middle aged, tall, robust and dark, lost in soliloquy, holding 
up two pairs of silk hose, then carefully wrapping them up.) Great woman 
this! Such arms and such shoulders! (Motioning to throw her a kiss. 
Aloud.) Here, Jack, take this package to Miss Noll, and tell her how 
highly I worship her. (Rubbing his hands. To himself.) What a 
surprise this will be for the little dear! 

Jacob. (Taking the parcel, mumbling to himself.) O! the deuce! 
How highly he worships her. Anyhow, she lives on the 13th floor 
and I guess that is high enough. 

Lange. Hurry up, Jack! Hurry up! 

Jacob. (Aside.) Old monkey! (Exit Jacob.) 
(Lange sits down at his desk, straightens books and papers, every once 

in a while putting his hand on his pocket, as if to make sure of the 

contents of same. Jutta enter.) 

Lange. Good morning, my dear child, how did you rest . (Rises 
and approaches her, while she tries to avoid him.) What . Still so 
bashful . (Aside.) We'll fix that. 

Jutta. I ask you all the time, you leave me alone mit your cheek — 

Lange. (Reassuringly.) You call that cheek? My dear woman, 
I like you. I love you 

Jutta. What! You love me? Such monkey business! You 
such a gentleman, and me a poor working woman — a Jewess! No, 
you too funny for anything; but I'm no simpleton; I'm not soft. 

Lange. (Trying to pass her some money.) Come on, now, my little 
pet, you are not sweet sixteen any more 

Jutta. (Resenting in disgust.) I like your gall! I never seen 
anything like it! You t'ink you can buy the honor of a woman with 
money. Not much! 



8 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Lange. (With a sly look toward her, putting his hand into his pocket, 
as if trying to find something.) I thought to have discovered in this 
beautiful little head, notions of free ideals; but to all appearance this 
is rather contradicting. 

Jutta. Free ideals! What you mean? 

Lange. What do I mean. Very simple — free love, I mean. 

Jutta. Ah — ye! Well, you have a funny idea of free love! Free- 
dom does not teach brute force and low moral. 

Lange. (Somewhat surprised.) Would you please give me a clearer 
definition of what what you mean, my dear child? 

Jutta. I explain to you . I not have enough education to explain 
such a lofty subject to a fine gentleman as you. (Exit Jutta.) 

Lange. Lofty! That's great, and from such rosy lips! (Getting 
serious.) Too bad about the dear little thing — the like of which should 

really be reserved for (Brandenfells enters; short, dark blond, 

about 50, good natured, nervous.) 

Brandenfells. Good morning, old man. Seen the mail? Good 
news? (Hangs up his hat.) 

Lange. Good morning. Some big orders came in. (Aside.) 
We'll fix that. 

Brand. Hm — Hm — Then there will be 

Lange. Coming down stairs I found this. (Hands Brandenfells 
a paper.) What do you think of it . 

Brand. (Reads.) What? No rules, no laws! down with capital? 
And what do you think of it? (Excited.) They should be strung up! 
They should all hang together! The mob! Such scoundrels! 

Lange. I suppose that would be the best cure for them, but I am 
afraid we would see some of our best hands hang with them. Sam is 
one of them. 

Brand. What! You don't say! Our men? They must be dis- 
charged this very day, every one of them! The rabble! At once, I 
say! 

Lange. Easy! easy! I would not get so excited; besides, I am 
not altogether sure of it. They're not the only yellow dogs. 

Brand. Why — that is clear as daylight. How do you suppose 
this paper got here, and you don't suppose — allow me — you don't 
suppose I would permit such a gang to remain under my roof . Don't 




Come on now, my little pet — you are not sweet sixteen anymore 



MODERN JUSTICE. 9 

you see this. "Down with Capital." I would be in constant fear of 
being burned alive in my own house. 

Lange. Now, my dear sir, that is not done so quickly. You 
know dogs that bark don't bite. How often have they been on strike, 
and how did they succeed? 

Brand. Strike! What do you mean by strike? 

Lange. Why, when they think they have a grievance and make a 
big bow-wow, that's what they call strike. They are too cowardly to 
resort to arms. (Goes and takes two cigars out of the buffet, one for 
himself, and handing the other to Brandenpells.) Listen, Mr. Branden- 
fells. I have a different idea. (Lights cigar.) You know we have 
about fifty thousand dollars of orders on hand. The factory is not 
large enough. Now, next door, which is vacant, we could rent for 
about two thousand dollars a year. 

Brand. (Interrupting.) That is all very well; but you know 
yourself what condition our finances are in. (Taps nervously with 
fingers on table.) 

Lange. I know; but, look here, my dear Brandenfells; let me 
explain. I have only commenced to give you my view. Now, what 
we might do is to put the cutters next door. You know, wool is just 
now so much higher, while the goods may have to be sold a shade 
lower, consequently, to meet the difference, we will be obliged to reduce 
wages. (Winking.) You understand . Two birds with one stone. 

Brand. So you think, by reducing wages you can subdue the 
mob. At the same time 

Lange. (Interrupting.) Yap, exactly what I mean. 

Brand. And how do you think to accomplish this? 

Lange. Very simple. We'll make Bachmann manager and Sel- 
kofsky superintendent. 

Brand. Hm — and if they refuse to accept the conditions? 

Lange. What! Refuse? I don't wish to hurt your feelings; 
but mighty little you know about human nature. In the first place, 
take a Jew, give him a chance to get ahold of money, and you can 
twist him around your little finger. Then, in the second place, you've 
got to hold those dogs tight, so they don't bite; you've got to squeeze 
the loafers so they barely have enough to eat. Make em beg for work 



10 MODERN JUSTICE, 

and bread — that's what you've got to do with those curs; then they'll 
be at your mercy. 

Brand. Look a-here, my boy, you are either a thousand years 
ahead of or behind the times, I don't know which; but do as you see 
fit. I don't want to have anything to do with such business. (Ex- 
cited.) I don't want to be guilty of it! 

Lange. Easy, easy! Don't fly off the handle! (Aside.) Fool! 
(Aloud.) Shall I 'phone for Bachmann? 

Brand. (Scratches his head.) Well, I'm anxious to know what is 
going to come out of all this, and if these people are going to submit 
to it. 

Lange. (Aside.) Old fool! (Aloud.) These men will take a 
whole lot more: (Bachmann enters; tall, bony, dark hair and eyes, 
good bearing. 

Bachmann. Good morning, gentlemen. 

Lange. (To himself.) Speak of the devil, and he is sure to appear. 

Brand. Good morning. (Extends his hand to Bachmann.) What 
is the good news, Mr. Bachmann? The order to Mr. Rosenthal deliv- 
ered? 

Bachmann. Not quite. To fill the order we got yesterday, we'll 
need an extra sixty pieces of goods. Outside of that, we'll have to 
transfer the packers to the basement, or we won't be able to turn 
around. 

Brand. Would not that give you more trouble . 

Bachmann. It would somewhat inconvenience us, but that should 
not matter so much. 

Lange. Well, I would not care to inconvenience you more than 
necessary. A man like you, that has always guarded the interests of 
the house, deserves more consideration. 

Brand. Take a seat, Bachmann. We might as well talk it over 
now, and see what can be done. (Offers him a seat while Lange offers 
him a cigar.) You say sixty pieces, and to-day an order came in for 
three hundred skirts, Nos. 22, 24 and 26. That would require consid- 
erably more, which, all together, would rather crowd us up stairs. 

Lange. (Quickly rising.) We'll have to make a change somewhere. 
We cannot have the men packed togehter like sardines in a box. Now, 
that building next door is vacant, with about as much floor space as 



MODERN JUSTICE. 11 

our own, and since we are satisfied with a smaller percentage on our 
goods — orders have nearly doubled over last year— of course, our 
expenses will be greater too, but it will enable a less fortunate class to 
clothe themselves better and more as they desire. 

Bachmann. I understand. 

Lange. As we enlarge, we should need some trustworthy man 

Brand. Whom could you suggest, Mr. Bachmann? 

Bachmann. Selkofsky is one of our best men, and thoroughly 
honest. 

Lange. So Selkofsky is your right-hand man. But who could 
take his place? 

Bachmann. Sam Elsan would be the best man for that position. 

Brand. Sam?— well — yes, but 

Lange. You mean Jutta's husband? 

Bachmann. Yes, sir. 

Brand. Yes, but, isn't Elsan (nervously) isn't he an anarchist? 

Bachmann. I would not positively say that he is that, though I 
know he is a free thinker; but as to that, most of the men hold such 
views. But, as regards business, you can surely depend on him. 

Lange. How is he situated financially? 

Bachmann. As much as I know, not very well. His furniture he 
has on installments, and 

Brand. But there is no necessity for him to do that, is there? 
Besides that, Jutta is earning wages. 

Bachmann. He supports his folks and an invalid sister. 

Brand. (In surprise.) Out of his wages? 

Lange. (Restless. Aside.) Old fool! (Aloud.) Talking about 
anarchism — what do you understand by it? That these people do 
not want to recognize authority? Doesn't Sam come under your 
jurisdiction? 

Bachmann. That he does; but only because he has to. 

Brand. How so? I don't understand that 

Bachmann. In no way do I let him feel my authority. I look 
upon him as my equal. 

(Brandenfells again nervously scratches his head.) 

Lange. (Sarcastically.) You mean as a Hebrew, as one of your 
race? 



12 MODERN JUSTICE. 8 

Bachmann. {Slowly.) No, as a human being. 

Lange. Ah! that's it! In other words, these people want a free 
hand — do as they please — build up and destroy, as they take a notion. 
One pulls this way, the other that. (Rises, hands in his pockets, pacing 
up and down.) Indeed, that isn't bad, and before we know it, these 
people would be bosses, and we their workmen. Not bad at all. Ha — 
ha — ha — ha! pretty good! (To Bachmann.) Don't want laws, either, 
do they? 

Bachmann. No coercion. Absolute freedom in their individual 
action. 

Brand. But who compels these people to do things they don't care 
to do? 

Bachmann. Circumstances, Mr. Brandenfells; existing conditions. 

Lange. Conditions? (Cynically.) Perhaps civilization or prog- 
ress? 

Bachmann. That is what it is called. The primitive state of our 
social conditions forces the working people to put in twelve to fifteen 
hours of work a day, to enable them to eke out a mere existence. 

Brand. (Excited.) If you please, no man is forced to work fifteen 
hours a day. 

Bachmann. You must not forget, Mr. Brandenfells, a great deal, 
or rather the greater part of all misery, never reaches the ear of the 
public. Take a trip through many of the streets of our larger cities, 
and you'll find children — oh, it is a shame! — poor, delicate creatures, 
many of whom are considerably under fifteen years of age, toiling, 
huddled together in factories, factories in name, but really sweatshops 
and prisons. There they sit, from seven in the morning till ten and 
eleven at night, and work, work, until their little backs ache and their 
eyelids droop from overexertion, and want of sleep — poor, wretched 
children. Yet, the city authorities are amazed at the constant increase 
of that most dreaded disease, consumption, and seem to be puzzled at 
the cause of these terrible conditions, especially amongst the working 
class. 

Brand. But, my dear Bachmann, you don't mean to say that we 
manufacturers are responsible for these conditions. You see, the 
market demands the production; naturally the manufacturer looks to 
the work-people to make the goods. Now, then, if eight hours a day 



MODERN JUSTICE. 13 

do not suffice to supply the demand, of course, we'll have to work nine 
and ten. 

Bachmann. Yes, but all that would not be necessary, if we would 
furnish work for all those that are unemployed. Statistics show that 
if work were distributed amongst all, employed and unemployed, four 
hours a day would more than suffice to produce all that is needed. 

Lange. Four hours! Ha ha! pretty good! And what on earth 
would these people do with all their spare time? 

Bachmann. Well, I don't know. What do gentlemen do — those 
that don't work at all? 

Lange. (Slowly.) Oh — well — that is altogether different. They 
are a different class of people — people who have education, and, what 
is more important — money. Where you find that, the days are often 
even not long enough. 

Bachmann. I believe that. But, why isn't the working man 
entitled to as much education as the rich? 

Lange. Hardly; simply because they have not the means to pay 
for it. 

Bachmann. Money! money! and again money! In other words, 
only those that have money have a right to live. 

Lange. Not so. Don't the poor live just the same? 

Brand. (Aside.) Well, well, he has run across the right kind of 
a man. I wonder how this is going to develop. 

Lange. Besides that, you must admit that the workingman could 
save considerable more of his wages, if it were not for his extravagance 
and dissipation. Take the workingman of the past generation. He 
was a mere slave compared to the workingman of to-day, and yet, now 
they are dissatisfied. 

Bachmann. In my opinion the workingman does not live at all, I 
call that existing; and what you call dissipation is merely the just 
desire to partake of the fruits of his own labor. 

Brand. (Aside.) I believe that man is right. 

Bachmann. Then, you must not forget, general knowledge pro- 
gresses, and in his leisure, a man is enabled to compare between himself 
and the capitalist, until he reaches a stage where he tries to break the 
bonds, which have been imposed upon him. 



14 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Lange. Leisure! The working class! To bewail their condition! 
There is an easy cure for this. But, look here, my dear Mr. Bachmann, 
you don't want for anything, nor do I, so why bother our heads about 
other people . Let every one look out for himself. We forget, over 
this sentimental foolishness, our purpose. (Aside.) That fellow has 
got to be bribed pretty well. (Aloud.) Mr. Brandenfells' idea is this: 
(Brandenfells looks astonished.) We rent that building next door. 
Then you take the position as manager, while — that is, if you think 
best — Selkofsky will be promoted to superintendent. Of course, your's 
and Selkofsky's salaries will be raised substantially. 

Brand. You see, my dear Bachmann, that we are trying to do 
what is right. ('Phone rings, Bachmann is called up stairs.) 

Lange. (Detaining Bacmhann.) Just one minute, Mr. Bachmann, 
we nearly forgot the most important thing. As you know, wool has 
gone up twenty per cent. While we cannot raise the price on our cus- 
tomers, of course, we will have to sacrifice some. At the same time, it 
would be only fair that our men should share a part of the loss, and I 
would suggest this : We reduce our profits to the extent of ten per cent, 
while the men bear the remaining ten per cent, until wool comes down 
again. 

Bachmann. Oh, Mr. Lange, I am afraid that is going to cause 
trouble, since this would be the second reduction for the present year. 

Brand. (Nervously.) Can't be helped, Mr. Bachmann. My God! 
we are trying our best, you can see for yourself . (Aside.) A little more 
and I'll have to start all over again, as employee in my own factory. 

Lange. Well, then, let them work overtime, or we'll take on others. 
You said yourself there are thousands of unemployed. 
('Phone rings again for Bachmann.) 

Bachmann. I'll see what I can do, Mr. Brandenfells. 
(Exit Bachmann.) 

Brand. Why did you say this was my proposition. 

Lange. When. How so. Oh, you mean Well, don't you 

see — you don't understand— that's what we call diplomacy. That man 
hasn't much use for me, and that's why. 

Brand. I am afraid we won't have very smooth sailing. You can 
read and hear about discontent all over — nothing but trouble. People 
act as though they were crazy ! 



MODERN JUSTICE. 15 

Lange. I warned you at the time not to employ Jews. 

Brand. Well , and how many have we in our employ? 

Lange. Three-fourths of all we have. Or did you think a Jew 

would give Christians the preference? Ha — ha — ha You might 

have known better. The next thing we can expect now is a strike. 
These gentlemen are very quick to act — though they forget they only 
hurt themselves — for they are not powerful enough to down capital, 
and where human power fails, this (produces roll of bills) will do the 
trick. The only authority they recognize. 

Brand. But, my dear sir, you must admit that should the men 
balk in earnest we would be in great danger — to go bankrupt; all the 
more, as Bachmann would surely withdraw his interest. 

Lange. As to Bachmann's interest, that is your affair; that does 
not concern me, though, should it come to the worst, we must not give 
in an inch. We'll have to fight, and fight to the last drop of blood. 

Brand. Fight to the last cent, you mean. 

Lange. (Irritated.) It means about the same. Had I been boss 
that time, not one Jew would have entered this place. They deserve 
to be kicked — kicked like a — (grinding his teeth) never mind — you wait 
— you confounded lot, I dare you to challenge capital. 

Brand. Are Christians, perhaps, an exception? 

Lange. Yes, they are. They obey, when you tell them to shut up, 
and work when you want them to. Look at the editorials of foreign 
papers. This mob sticks together, as though they were glued 
together. 

(Boy enters with letter to Brandenfells.) 

Brand. (To himself, reading.) So at last, that old goose. (To 
Lange.) I have word my sister has arrived. (Taking hat and coat.) I 
may be back a little late. Good-by. 

Lange. One moment, Mr. Brandenfells (takes cash book from his 
desk). What's to be done with this . You know it's three weeks over- 
due now. 

Brand. Why do you ask me? You know what you have to do. 

Lange. Very well, then, would you kindly take a look at this. 
(Opens book and points to a certain page.) Here is where your control 
ends. (Brandenfells nervously turns over several pages, wiping per- 
spiration from his forehead.) 



16 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Brand. What? Is it possible? During all this time I thought I 
had 

Lange. That's none of my business; and to explain to you, how- 
ever, it's a fact. 

Brand. Then you might just as well give me the broom, so I can 
sweep your office. 

Lange. No nonsense, Mr. Brandenfells. You know I am not that 
kind of a man. Why don't you meet me half-way? I do the same 
thing, you know. 

Brand. What do you want me to do . You want me to pull the 
irons out of the fire for you. You want me to fight out the whole thing 
with the men . It was not my idea, to reduce their wages, it was yours, 
you diplomat 

Lange. Why so excited, my dear sir . That wasn't what I meant 
at all. That's a mere nothing. I meant a different proposition. 

Brand. Listen, Lange. I know what you are driving at; but, 
before I would let you marry my niece, I'd rather send a bullet through 
my brain. 

Lange. Well, then, you'll have to bear the consequences. Don't 
forget, though, that others will have to suffer. Don't you think of your 
wife, and your lovely niece? 

Brand. Can't you understand me . Do you expect, because I have 
been unsuccessful as a business man, that I should sacrifice my niece, 
never — never! The thought alone would be a crime. Listen, Lange. 
Do as you please. Your highest ambition is to see your name in gold 
letters over the old house of Brandenfells. In this you have now 
reached your aim. But never will you marry my niece. Her tastes 
and ambitions are far different and above yours. Good-by. 
(Exit Brandenfells.) 

Lange. (His eyes following Brandenfells in deep chagrin.) Too 
bad! What a fool you are; though it may be better this way. Then — 
but then (clenches his fist) then I'll take care of you. You'll learn to 
obey! How I hate them — how I despise them — those Jews! They 
shall be kicked — kicked out of the land. If any one dare protest — 
Wait, you'll know me. (Hand to forehead, lost in thought.) Where 
have I seen this face — those staring eyes — and that nose — where, I 
wonder. After all, I guess it's only an^every day face. (Goes to 




There is, where your account ends 



MODERN JUSTICE. 17 

'phone. Enter Jutta. Turns to her.) Listen, my dear child. (Ike, 
a discharged workman enters. Lange to Ike.) What do you want? 
Who are you? What's your name? 

Ike Rosewater. My name is Ike Rosewater. I was docked 
$1.25 last week, and I want my money. 

Lange. (Sits down again in rocker.) Ike Rosewater? Hm! 
smells like it! (Holds his breath.) I don't think! (Laughs aloud.) 

Ike. Please, Mister, I ask you for my money. My wife very sick, 
and I hard up. 

Lange. Will you work for six dollars . 

Ike. (Nervously twists his hat in his hand.) By God, Mister, I 
swear, I cannot work for six dollars. 

Lange. The devil you can't. You cannot work for six dollars, but 
starve you can. Go on; get out of here. 

Ike. Every penny you keep is a drop of blood of a workingman. 
Every one of those pennies is the groan of a sick woman. Every penny, 
mark my word, Mister, is going to be a hundred weight on your con- 
science. 

Lange. Go on! Get out of here, you confounded Jew, or I'll 

Ike. (Dries the tears from his eyes.) Not necessary, Mister. I'll 
go. May the money you have stolen make you happy. 

(Exit Ike.) 

Lange. (Paces up and down.) Confounded nuisance that 

(Peddling Jew enters office.) 

Peddler. Gpod morning, Mister. Want any nice suspenders, 
toothbrushes, matches. 

Lange. (Angry.) Get out! Can't you read? "Peddlers keep 
out." 

Peddler. Oh, no, Mister, me no can read 

Lange. Go on — go on — I don't want you Sheenies 

(Peddler exit, but enter next office door.) 

Peddler. Shoe blacking, polish, buttons, this morning. 

Lange. (Mad with rage.) What's the matter? Jerusalem let loose 
today? 

Peddler. (Sarcastic.) Don't get scared. I the same man. My! 
you such polite peoples. 

(Exit Peddler.) 



18 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Lange. A Jew is a Jew. Fire him out of one door, and he comes 
in the next. (Looking around.) Where is Jutta, I wonder? Could 

she possibly have ? Ha! she would be about the only one that 

would not fear my power. I have cleaned whole communities of this 
plague — and there — I should not be able to conquer this woman. 
This, here (pulls out a roll of bills) conquers men, women, the whole 
world. Mammon gets for us anything we want. Money buys every- 
thing — esteem, confidence, even a good name. With money we turn 
this world into a paradise. It is our comrade and friend, and the high- 
est ambition, for the low class, for which they will sacrifice health and 
even life. It is the all-moving power, and rules the world. You 
anarchists and secret societies, your idle talk will never succeed in 
breaking this lion's neck, your efforts are in vain. No human strength 
will break the power of the always almighty dollar — and a good thing 
for us (laughs hoarsely. Noise from above and on the stairs attracts his 
attention. Pulls out his watch.) What! three minutes to twelve, and 
already they quit! (His clenched fist pointed to the ceiling.) Thieves! 
Never mind, not much longer, and you will be in my power. That kind 
old fool of Brandenfells clings to a straw like a drowning man. All I 
have to do is to withdraw my support, and over he would go. But my 
opportunity has not come yet. For the present I need him, though 
it may cost me a thousand or two. I must have a satisfaction, and 
revenge is sweet. I shall not forget those hisses and rotten eggs, you 
damned Sheenies. I'll make you suffer yet. (Rings bell, boy enters.) 
Tell Bachmann the men quit ahead of time, and I want everybody to 
make up one quarter of an hour for this, this evening. I'll be back at 
two o'clock. 

Boy. Yes, sir. (Lange puts on hat and coat. Exit.) 

(Through the open door, Jutta' s voice is heard.) 

Jutta. Leave me alone! Leave me alone, I tell you! (Comes 
running into office, her hair mussed, sinks in chair, burys face in hands.) 
All that I must take from that wretch; if I don't, I lose my bread and 
butter. What did he say . You are beautiful . (Rises, goes to looking- 
glass, straightens her hair.) Yes, I am good looking; yet, what does it 
amount to . With all my good looks, my poor, wretched sister has to 
suffer privations just the same, where she was unable to care for her- 
self — and depended on me. Oh, when I think of it (shudders) those 



MODERN JUSTICE. 19 

terrible days— terrible. And to have to show a pleasant face to every- 
body, and jest and laugh, when my heart wants to break. Oh, it is 
terrible. {Suddenly straightening up.) But no more, I will not stand 
this any longer. I have learned to earn my bread as a decent woman, 
and if he dares to come near me again, I will slap his face. 

(Exit JUTTA.) 



20 MODERN JUSTICE 



ACT II 

Scene: Brandenf ells' home. Elegantly furnished dining-room. 

Brand. (As he enters.) Come in here. This is more comfortable. 
(Looking at his watch.) By the way, it's nearly time for dinner. (Emilie 
and Rosa enter.) Well, Emilie, how do you like this room? 

Emilie. Oh, very nice. A little loud, don't you think? 

Rosa. But modern. 

Emilie. When does Stella come home? I suppose she is rather a 
pretty girl? Is she much like her father? 

Brand. Yes, Emilie, Stella has developed into a nice, sensible girl. 
Too bad her parents have been so hard hit by misfortune. Her future 
looked very bright. She could have accomplished a great deal. But 
now — I am afraid circumstances 

Rosa. And what would she have been? She ought to be glad that 
we, or rather I, took care of her. It was best for her. I'll show you, 
Emilie, what disgraceful books she reads. 

Brand. Disgraceful books! My dear child, what do you know 
about books? Don't make yourself ridiculous. 

Rosa. (Ignoring Brandenfells.) Look here, Emilie. (Picks up 
some books from a bookcase.) Here are Kant, Schopenhauer, Rosseau, 
Emerson, Darwin, and a number of other disgraceful literature 

Emilie. Albrecht! For goodness' sake! 

Rosa. (To another bookcase.) And here are some more. What 
do you think of it? 

Emilie. For heaven's sake! (Wringing her hands.) That is not 
literature fit for a young girl — a girl of her class! 

Brand. Pardon me, Emilie, but I don't think you know much 
more about these things than my wife. Look here, my dear sister, 
you forget times change; the world progresses, you know, and we old 
ones are apt to get a little out-of-date 

Rosa. She doesn't go to Church at all, and (somewhat hurt) when 
I have company, the young lady retires. I suppose she prefers to be 



MODERN JUSTICE. 21 

alone with those disgraceful books. {Excited.) I am not going to 
have it any longer! 

Brand. {Disgusted.) You leave her alone! Besides, if she would 
rather study, and prefers to read her books — which, by the way, are 
excellent literature — I can hardly blame her, instead of gossiping with 
a lot of washerwomen. 

Emilie. You are a 

Rosa. Washerwomen? 

Emilie. {To Rosa.) What do you say? 

Rosa. No — you speak! 

Emilie. My! Albrecht! how you have changed! Have you lost 
all faith? Don't you know that your Day of Reckoning will come some 
day? 

Brand. {Stretches himself.) Yes — yes 1 — too bad! 

Rosa. {Vexed.) Washerwomen! You call my lady friends? 
Washerwomen, did you say? 

Brand. {Curtly.) That's what I said! That is all you and your 
friends do — gossip, gossip, never say anything good about anybody 

Rosa. {Rises in anger.) That is an infamy! Inconsiderate as 
ever ! 

Emilie. And I think that such society would be far more proper 
for a girl like her, than to read those abominable books. My goodness! 
That is awful! 

Rosa. You don't mean to say that Stella knows better than I do? 

Brand. That is exactly what I mean. She has far more sense — 
'though, my dear Kitty, the is not so good looking as you 

Rosa. {Aside.) You forget, kitty can scratch. {Aloud.) Well, 
well, what do you think of that? I hope you are not in love with her. 

Brand. Don't get alarmed, my dear, I love only you 

Rosa. Yes, your manners prove it 

Brand. How so? 

Rosa. You neglect me in every way possible. When you come 
home evenings, you take your papers or your books and read, or you 
lie down on the sofa and sleep, instead of entertaining your wife 

Brand. My dear, I cannot help that. Circumstances — the duties 
which are imposed upon a man nowadays are enough to make him a 
slave. A married man nowadays becomes a machine. All day he has 



22 MODERN JUSTICE. 

to contend with the ups and downs of business, and when he comes 
home, life is made a burden for him. All day, during the struggles in 
business, he worries how best to provide and make his better-half's 
life happy — who knows not and feels not the troubles of her husband; 
and when he comes home evenings, to enjoy his much-needed rest, she 
unreasonably expects him to entertain her. You expect too much, 
my dear child. (Aside.) If there only was anything to entertain. 
(Aloud.) Besides, can't you do a little yourself to occupy your mind? 
Read. Get acquainted with our authors. We have such beautiful 
literature. 

Rosa. And what should I read? 

Brand. Goodness! What? There is a bookcase full of the very- 
best works — and that represents only a very small part of what you 
could read 

Rosa. Pshaw! That is too dry! It is uninteresting, anyway 

Brand. Well, then take up something else. There is so much 
for you to do around the house, or such a variety of fancy work to 
keep you busy, surely, it would not hurt you 

Rosa. Housework! You know I never had to do it, and I certainly 
won't do it now 

Brand. By God! Look at Stella! There is a girl for you! It is 
a pleasure to watch her. She turns her hand to everything, and what 
she does, she does well. She does it willingly, and is not afraid of work. 

Rosa. Oh, that is something she inherited. (To Emilie.) You 
know, Emilie, her mother, before she was married, worked in a factory. 
Why, she was only a factory-girl, so what could you expect. That was 
born in her, and outside of that, what is she? She has not any manners. 
It is awful! There! It's one o'clock, and Stella isn't home yet. No, 
as long as I am mistress of this house, I won't stand for her disrespect. 
(Rings.) 

Brand. Don't you 

(Lena enters.) 

Lena. Madam? 

Rosa. You may set the table. (Exit Lena, re-enters to set table. 
To Brandenfells.) What did you want to say? 

Brand. I don't want you to talk cross to Stella when she comes 
home 



MODERN JUSTICE. 23 

Rosa. Consideration for that — beggar? 

Brand. {Quietly and slowly.) She is your niece as much as mine! 
She is my brother's child, remember! 

Rosa. {Agitated.) Niece or no niece, she shall do as I say! 

Brand. Like everybody else around here, you mean to say? Be 
careful, I tell you. 

Rosa. Abominable! And what is more — since that girl came into 
my house, you want to economize at my expense. It is three months 
now, since I have seen a drop of Port wine 

Brand. And I hardly think you need any. You are just the pic- 
ture of health 

Rosa. Gracious! I — not need any? I still get those fainting spells. 
Why, only this morning I was almost overcome. Isn't that so, Emilie? 

Emilie. {Reluctantly.) Y-e-s, Rosa nearly fainted this morning — 
while she was putting on her new waist 

Rosa. And it is not a bit too tight; but it was such an exertion 
for me 

Brand. Hm — it's too bad about you! Well, if you do not feel 
well to-day, you will have to stay in the house, my dear — instead of 
going to your tea-party — or, wasn't that your intention? 

Emilie. Yes, we intended 

Rosa. Now you see! you even begrudge me that innocent little 
tea-party. {Weeps.) Oh, how unhappy I am! 

Emilie. Rosa, {dignified) control yourself 

Brand. Tut, tut! Such stupidity! Didn't you say you didn't 
feel well? There was not the remotest idea of grudge 

Emilie. {Slowly.) Alfred! 

Stella. {Enter rather hastily.) Good day, uncle, dear! And how 
are you, Aunty? 

Brand. Good day, my child. {To Emilie.) Here, Emilie, is 
Stella — Karl's only daughter. 

Emilie. Good day, my child. {Kisses her forehead.) How are 
you? How are your parents? 

Stella. {Sadly.) My parents? Not very well. They have gone 
to strange lands — to starve. 

Emilie. Why, that is terrible! {To Brandenfells.) But how 
did Karl meet with such reverses? 



24 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Brand. How? Oh, dear! Don't you know Karl? He always 
was that — kind-hearted — but not very successful as a business man — 
and the rest you may conjecture. 

Rosa. Not at all! I'll tell you, Emilie. He kindly assisted a 
Jew, and this is the lesson he learned. 

Brand. Of course, Jews again! There is nothing you could not 
blame on the Jews. It is true, he came to the assistance of this man, 
because he needed help, and he happened to be a Hebrew. Take the 
many instances where a Hebrew helps a Christian, and that is the last 
you hear about it. Even those that were benefited do not care to 
have anybody know that it was a Hebrew that assisted him — not even 
that he accepted help. But you go and turn about, and you won't 
hear the end of it. True, there are a lot of rogues amongst the Jews, 
but you find them just as bad and worse — amongst Christians 

Rosa. What you don't know about humanity 

Emilie. But, for^God's sake, can't you help your poor brother Karl? 

Brand. I should like to have done so; but I am in a rather difficult 
position myself, just now. Couldn't you do something for him? You 
have thousands at your command. 

Emilie. Yes, if I had only known. I gave two hundred and fifty 
dollars to the Church last week 

Brand. You might have known that he could not be in very pros- 
perous circumstances, else he would not have left his only child behind. 

Emilie. Isn't there an awful lot of misery amongst people 

Brand. And that affects you so much? Why, then, must you 
help the priests? 

Emilie. But, Alfred, they ought to live as well as we do, shouldn't 
they? And see what they do for us 

Rosa. That is right, Emilie. 

Emilie. (To Stella.) Come, my child, don't be so sad — come and 
sit by me. Our Lord won't forsake your parents. Trust in God, and 
all will be well. And how is your father? 

Stella. I do not know, Auntie. 

Brand. (Aside.) He lives on air, the poor fellow! Stingy old 
spinster! The fool that I was to hope for relief here! 

Rosa. (To Stella.) Well, and where was our young lady, that 
she came home so late? 








Stella suddenly drops head on table — Lansky entering 



MODERN JUSTICE. 25 

Stella. Excuse me, Auntie, we had been talking a while, and 
before we knew it, it was 

Rosa. And with whom, if I may ask. 

Stella. Mrs. Elsan. 

Rosa. What? Do I hear? The one that works for your uncle? 
That sheenie woman? 

Emilie. Rosa! Rosa! 

Stella. But, Auntie, isn't she a woman, the same as any other? 

Rosa. Hush! once and for all time — I won't have that. Jew is 
Jew! and I won't permit that you associate with such trash. I don't 
want you to have anything to do with Jews of any kind. (To Emilie.) 
You know, aristocracy and people of the better class should have 
institutions where they could bring up their children properly, free from 
all influence of the lower class, and nobody should be allowed to see 
them, except relatives and near friends. Furthermore, girls should 
pledge themselves not to leave the institution under twenty-two years 
of age, or not until they are old enough to be married. That would 
prevent the evil influences of the lower class. What do you think 
about that, Emilie? 

Emilie. That would be a capital idea, Rosa! In my opinion, it 
won't be long before it will come to that. Children of the better class 
are too easily spoiled by the children of the working class. Besides, 
see how dangerous! You know these poor people have so many dread- 
ful diseases. (To Stella.) May God protect you from such people! 

Rosa. (To Stella.) You should remember that, never to asso- 
ciate with a person, who is a (To Emilie.) Well, Emilie, you 

know what I mean 

Brand. For goodness' sake! keep your views to yourself! And 
you, Rosa, will you please keep quiet! This stupid hatred against 
Jews — people whom you don't know at all, so ridiculous! 

Rosa. I? I should not know what they are? At home, as a little 
child, I heard my parents speak about them 

Brand. That is just it! You always hear — but don't know it 
yourself. 

Rosa. What! How dare you say that to me! I? With the 
best of education and the best of schooling that I had? Where the 
servants came flying when I uttered a wish 



26 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Brand. Go on, Rosa! Don't try to make me believe How 

often did you help your mother milk the cow? 

Rosa. I? I? Well, and if I did— I didn't have to do it. I did 
it out of my own free will 

Brand. And your mother ? 

Rosa. That is none of your business ! 

Emilie. Rosa, be moderate 

Brand. (Rises in anger.) You are an ignorant goose! 

Rosa. I shall resent your mean insinuations. (Stamping her foot.) 
And, Stella, once for all — I don't want to see you again with that 
woman. People in the neighborhood must think we are friends with 
those Jews. I will be ashamed to go out of the house. 

Brand. (Nervous.) Enough of the Jews now, I tell you. It was 
a Jew that helped me to my feet with cold cash, and if it had not been 
for him, you might to-day be taking in washing 

Rosa. I! Take in washing! How low! The idea! You married 
me, and it is your duty to see that I have the comforts I should have. 

Brand. Yes, my duty. I have all the obligations, and you have 
none 

Rosa. And then you take a girl in the house — a girl like that. 
She does as she pleases, and you assist her in every possible manner, 
instead of to see to it that she obeys me. 

Brand. Don't drive me to desperation, I tell you! Why don't you 
shut up now? 

Rosa. Take Mr. Lange, he is a man — a gentleman! See his man- 
ners! Never a harsh word, always considerate — and how courteous! 

Brand. How is it possible? You are ignorance personified. 
Little you know the kind of a man he is. 

Rosa. And you are rudeness personified! You are low — mean! 

Brand. Woman, do you want to drive me out of my home? 
Nothing but trouble in business, all day; and when I come home, you 
bother the life out of me — enough to drive anybody crazy. (Jumps 
up, paces the floor, suddenly laughing hoarsely.) And that is happiness 
of married life! (Continues, more to himself.) One marries a woman 
of so-called good family; supposed to be virtuous and well-bred. 
From childhood she is taught that a woman's mission is to be the wife 
of some man, whose duty it will be to coddle her, and play with her, 



MODERN JUSTICE. 27 

and most important of all, will support her — thus looking upon mar- 
riage as a maintenance, or a charitable institution, and as she thus ful- 
filled her mission, she ceases to strive — to develop her mind. She 
becomes an ornament, instead of being a true companion of the man 
she wedded. 

Rosa. Well, what am I married for? I'd like to know? 

Brand. (Interrupting her angrily.) Be quiet. (In disgust.) Of 
course! What for? If a man comes home to get his much needed rest, 
his wife seeks pleasure. She wants to go out, wants to be entertained! 
Has he reverses in business troubling his mind? She comes to worry 
him with unpaid dressmakers' and other bills, and on top of all that, 
nasty reproaches. The honey-moon over, she bores him with jealousy- 
It is disgusting 

Rosa. Oh, well! I could have married another man where I 
would have been free from cares — instead of marrying a clod, a man 
that hasn't the least breeding, and learning 

Brand. That is enough now! No more of it! That is more than 
I can stand. (Goes to his desk, putting something into his pocket.) 
(Exit Brandenfells, very excited.) 

Rosa. Alfred! (After him to the door.) Alfred! What are you 
going to do? Where are you going? 

Brand. (Through the open door.) To hell! 

Stella. Uncle! Uncle, dear! (Stella follows him through the 
door. Rosa runs about the room terrified, while Emilie laments.) 

Rosa. My God! I'll go crazy! Why all this? Why all these 
quarrels? Is it not enough that I have to put up with unruly servants? 
And all on account of this girl! My home is wrecked, I am miserable, 

unhappy (Loud exclamations from another room.. Rosa sinks 

into a chair, unnerved.) 

Stella's Voice. (Through the door.) Uncle! Uncle! (Report of 
a revolver is heard. Emilie, who has tried to comfort Rosa, jumps up, 
upsetting table, shouting.) 

Emilie. Lena, Lena! Help, help! Something terrible has hap- 
pened. 
(Two women come running in, lamenting and wringing their hands.) 

First Woman. Oh, Mrs. Brandenfells! Mrs. Brandenfells! What 
has happened? 



28 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Rosa. (Sinks back into her chair, exclaiming.) My husband has 
shot himself! He has shot himself! Oh, it is terrible! My God, help 
me! Forgive him his sins, God Almighty! {Wringing her hands.) 
Alfred, my Alfred. 

(Stella and Lena appear in the door terrified.) 

Stella. Auntie, would you please 

Rosa. Out of my eyes, you wretch! You are the cause of it — you 
— you Lena run for the doctor! 

Second Woman. But what has happened? 

Rosa. Oh, had I never seen her! She is the cause of all this! 
How happy we could have been, if she had never entered this house! 
Oh, I am ruined! My God! My God! 

Both Women. Impossible! Is it possible! Why, see the kind of 
people she associates with! 

(Rosa laments. Lena enters.) 

Lena. Please, madam, doctor is here! 
(Rosa rises, with the assistance of the two women, who take her to the door.) 

Rosa. (Piteously.) Alfred! Alfred! 

(The two women remain, Rosa exit.) 

First Woman. The poor woman! How she takes it to heart! 
See what caused all this trouble. I am not surprised at it — the com- 
pany she keeps. They say that Elsan woman is not even married to 
the man she lives with 

Second Woman. Such people should not be allowed to associate 
with anybody. 

First Woman. And Mrs. Brandenfells is such a good woman 

(Lena enters, weeping.) 

Second Woman. Tell me, Lena, is it really as bad as all that? 

Lena. Yes, he is dead. Oh, oh! (Weeps.) 

Second Woman. Heavens! what a calamity! Take care of Mrs. 
Brandenfells, Lena, she takes it so awfully hard! 



MODERN JUSTICE. 29 



ACT III 

Scene: Workshop. Tables in right-hand corner, rolls of cloth 
piled up, towards front a desk, towards center a stove, along side of 
which is a pile of wood. A door in left-hand corner leads into Jutta's 
room. (Caretaker's room.) Another door, entrance to shop. 

Time: 6 o'clock A. M. , ! '• 

(Jutta enters. Starts fire. Br-r-r-) 

Jutta. How wise this world is managed, hardly enough to eat. 
Is it a wonder one freezes? 

Sam. (From Jutta's room.) Jutta, Jutta, coffee is boiling over. 

Jutta. My, how brave you are — ha! ha! ha! You better not 
touch that can, you burn your fingers — ha! ha! ha! (Runs into her room.) 

Selkofsky. (Enters, hangs up hat and coat, turns toward Jutta's 
room.) Good morning. Are you up so soon? (Goes to stove to warm 
himself.) 

Jutta. (In the door.) Good morning, Mat. My! you up early, 
You fall out of bed? 

Sam. (In other room.) Ha, ha, ha. You've never seen his bed, 
have you? Big enough for a family. (Enters shop.) You smelt that 
coffee, hey? (Shakes hands with Selkofsky.) Bring the coffee in here 
Jutta, it's warmer here, and we must save coal, my friend. 
(Jutta brings coffeepot, cups, bread and vnolasses.) 

Sam. Say, Mat, what time have you got? 

Selkofsky. It's a little after six. 

Jutta. (While she pours out the coffee.) Everybody up so early 
this morning. My! I hardly sleep a wink all night. (Sighs. All sit 
down to breakfast.) 

Selkofsky. Yes, I was uneasy too. Who would have thought it — 
a house like Brandenf ells' to come to such an end? 

Jutta. And Brandenfells was a good man. 

Sam. He was too good. But, Mat, why don't you say something ? 
You must have news, you never come over so early. 



30 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Selkofsky. So I have. Say, Sam, haven't you noticed something 
strange about Bachmann? 

Sam. I notice a lot of things. He is very kind and I believe he is 
a friend of the workingmen. 

Selkofsky. Do you know that he is well off? 

Sam. He is that; but why does he work? He is only taking bread 
and butter from somebody else. 

Jutta. You just watch. He is laying for Lange. 

Sam. I hope he does. A fellow like Lange should be hung up by 
his heels. They ought to take him and cut him to pieces, and break 
every bone in his body. 

Selkofsky. There you are again. The same old Sam. You'd 
string them all up if you could. 

Jutta. That's all right. You don't know Lange. 

Sam. Yes, Mat, you don't know half of the misery in this world. 
You should go through what I have, you would judge different. You 
ought to see for yourself. Say, do you remember Dave, you know the 
one who went to school with us ? 

Selkofsky. Oh, yes. He was a smart fellow. I remember. 

Sam. You remember when he drew your picture? He was only 
twelve years old. 

Selkofsky. {Nodding.) Hm — Hm 

Sam. You know what became of him? A boy like Dave? 

Selkofsky. Well? 

Sam. He was only fourteen when his mother died, and he had to 
keep his two sisters. Now, what do you think — a boy — to earn a 
living for the family! Poor kid! He had to work hard. Then he got 
a job as presser, and when his sisters grew up, he married. On the side, 
he always daubed and drew pictures, you know. He got quite an 
artist, they say. All at once he disappeared. That was four weeks 
ago. He left his wife to care for the two kids. 

Jutta. Isn't that terrible! 

Selkofsky. I didn't think he would be such a coward. 

Sam. I don't call that a coward. If he was a coward in one thing, 
he was not in another. He was true to himself — can't you see that? 
He did what he thought was right. He loved art so much, and loved 



MODERN JUSTICE. 31 

it more than everything else. Had he stayed by his family he would 
have neglected himself. 

Selkofsky. Say what you like — he was a coward 

Jutta. And what with his family? 

Sam. His family? Who is responsible for family? Society! If 
conditions were different, he might have followed his art, and have 
his family all the same. She tells me that she and the two kids have 
to live on twenty-five cents a day. You call that justice? Look at 
the people that call themselves the upper Four Hundred! They have 
so much they get sick from it — and we get sick because we haven't got 
enough. If I could only do as I'd like to 

Selkofsky. You may be right, as far as society is concerned; but 
I do not believe that your way of changing conditions would be the 
proper way. I believe Bachmann's system is far better. And as to 
destroying one's family to attain one's object, as Dave did, no matter 
what conditions exist, or how great his talent, no man is justified to 
demand such sacrifices from his fellowmen, much less from his helpless 
children — his own flesh and blood. As a unit in the universe, he, by 
himself is of too little importance, and, with justice to all, there can 
be no privileges for any one. 

Sam. {Struggling with the expression.) Well, from your standpoint 
you may be right, but how can a man elevate his mind? How can he 
ever reach his ideals? He must not look right or left, neither behind him. 
His highest aim, and his only aim must be to reach spiritual perfection. 

Selkofsky. Ah! if we could ever accomplish that! But you 
forget that after all we are only human beings, and as such, descended 
from the animal, which it takes all our power of self-control to conquer. 
Never will we reach spiritual perfection, so long as we are human. 
And as such we have no right to ask or even accept sacrifices. Only 
after attaining perfectness in the flesh can we expect to become spir- 
itually perfect. 

Sam. Hm — You'll have to give me time to think that over. Hm — 
{suddenly) but what about Bachmann's system? You think that he 
will stay, since Brandenfells is dead? 

Selkofsky. I don't know, Sam. You know he does not say 
much — he generally acts, and whatever he has undertaken so far has 
been successful. 



32 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Sam. Think so? Time will show. But can't you tell me what 
his system will be? 

Selkofsky. Bachmann thinks that the workingmen in America 
are far more advanced. 

Sam. Then he wants to go to America? 

Jutta. To America! 

Selkofsky. I am not quite sure; but I believe that is his idea- 
He is thoroughly disgusted with our system of police and military 
government. 

Sam. Military? Well, now, Selk! He does not know much about 
our soldiers, then. I tell you, if. a revolution should break out to-day 
most of them would shoot in the air. 

Selkofsky. You are mistaken, Sam. You don't know what they 
can do. They simply have to shoot. 

Sam. You don't say! Don't you believe for a moment that they 
would shoot their brothers, to please the brutes that rule our country! 
No, no, Max, you want to get up a little earlier. But what about your 
system? 

Selkofsky. Well, I'll tell you: but you don't want to get excited, 
if our views differ from yours. 

Sam. Never mind, Max, I won't say much. I'll think my part. 
Dig right in. I'm anxious to know what two smart fellows like you 
have invented. Ha — ha — ha 

Selkofsky. You can laugh all you want! Well, first of all, we 
would form a society in New York. 

Jutta. So he really is going to America? 

Sam. Don't disturb him! You listen a while, now, else we might 
sit here till morning. 

Selkofsky. Now, all those that earn money subscribe to a general 
fund, say for about ten years; by that time we'll have money enough 
to buy up enough land in the West to lay out farms and a city of our 
own. 

Sam. A city of our own! Well, well 

Selkofsky. Yes, and where everybody will have a home of his 
own — with enough room for everybody, and more 

Sam. A home of his own! 

Selkofsky. We then build our own factories and manufacture all 




What is this? How does this get here 



MODERN JUSTICE. 33 

we need for ourselves, and not a bit more. There will be no bosses, 
and no parasites. All will be on an equal footing. 

Sam. But how are you going to control all that? You can't let 
everybody do as he pleases. 

Selkofsky. Of course, we will have to have somebody at the head 
of it, and we will have to have law and order, to punish those that try 
to take advantage of their fellowmen. Outside of that, everybody can 
do as he pleases. Anybody that does not want to work will have to 
do without food. 

Sam. {Sarcastically.) Well, I don't see that differs very much 
from a capitalistic state. How are you going to supply food; and are 
you going to have these round pieces of metal what we call money ? 

Selkofsky. Merit and ability will always maintain their value 
and preference 

Sam. So, those that know more than the rest of them, get more, 
too ? 

Selkofsky. Of course. Life must be worth living, and those that 
accomplish more must be rewarded. Our greatest reward will be 
retirement from manual labor. After that, a man is provided for, for 
the rest of his life, and he can do absolutely as he pleases, provided 
he doesn't interfere with the liberties of his fellowmen. 

Sam. Do you call that treating everybody alike? 

Selkofsky. This treatment may not seem alike, but in justice to 
everybody the rights of each individual will be closely guarded. What 
a man accumulates as a worker, will be for his own benefit, and he him- 
self will enjoy the fruits thereof. When he dies he leaves nothing — 
but his memory. Should he have a creative, artistic mind, his works 
would become an endowment to the community and to posterity 
The outside world will also be able to partake of the products of our 
work in return for whatever might be useful to us. Of course, mistakes 
will be made, as long as we remain human, but such mistakes shall be 
treated humanely, and it shall be our main effort to educate our coming 
generation to the best of our ability, and I have no doubt, if harmony 
prevails, we shall in a number of generations reach human perfection 
as near as possible 

Sam. Well, that, of course, sounds very good. Individual inde- 
pendence is what we are striving for — and you are working somewhat 



34 MODERN JUSTICE. 

towards it. But, Mat, I don't know, I don't think you will ever see the 
day. I don't care much for your plan, because you are going at it too 
slow. Besides, it would be a small part of humanity, anyway, and 
but few, comparatively, would benefit by it. What's the use of dicker- 
ing with society, as long as we know what we want? What do we need 
a leader for, if we all hold one opinion to one purpose? Down with 
those that dare to oppose us, and once all obstacles are removed, we 
all will have reached very soon, what a few of you expect to reach some 
distant day 

Selkofsky. And do you think, that is so easily done? You may 
use force, but will it avail you of anything? 

Sam. Of course, you must not mind a little spilling of blood. A 
few miserable human beings don't count for much, and once we have 
shown them that we mean business, they will stop opposing us and 
join our ranks. See that? 

Selkofsky. Sam, have you ever seen anybody convinecd by force? 
Go back to the middle ages. Go back to the time of the Spanish inquisi- 
tion. How much both innocaent nd guilty blood was spilt? Yet, 
with the thousands and thousands of victims, it could not stop prog- 
ress. Some day, there will be a time when our present system is for- 
gotten, but you cannot force nature 



Sam. Maybe, Mat. I can't see it that way. Sorry 

Selkofsky. Then you won't go with us? 

Sam. I'm sorry, Mat, I cannot. Let me be true to my principles. 
And if I cannot convince you, well, then I wish you good luck. 

Selkofsky. You'll be true to your principles if it costs you your 
head. 

Sam. (Shrugging his shoulders.) Perhaps! Can't help it! 

Selkofsky. I am sorry, Sam. An intelligent fellow as you are! 
I'd like to have had you with us. 

Sam. I am glad to know you are my friend. One thing you must 
promise me, let us remain friends. 

Selkofsky. (Extending his hand.) My hand, Sam. Come what 
may, we'll always remain friends. 

Sam. Very well, then, Mat. 

Jutta. What do you think of Mrs. Brandenfells now? What do 
you think she will do? 



MODERN JUSTICE. 35 

Sam. What do other people do? 

Jutta. But she is left in reduced circumstances. 

Sam. Well, then, let her work. 

Jutta. But, Sam, you know she has never been used to work. 

Sam. Well, then, she'll learn it. She is stronger than you and 
Miss Stella together 

Jutta. Besides that, she has got heart trouble, and if she had had 
to work before this, she would hardly be living 

Selkofsky. That's what she said 

Jutta. What she said 

Sam. That what she said? Ha— ha — ha! Then it must be so! 
And did you tell her that the doctor said you should not work, and 
that you are spitting blood for over a year? 

Jutta. But she is a woman with education, and her hands are not 
used to work. 

Sam. Then let her work her brains. Do you think her mind and 
her heart are as delicate as her hands? 

Selkofsky. Don't worry about Mrs. Brandenfells. Bachmann 
offered her help, but she proudly refused. Besides Brandenfells knew 
what he was doing, and if nothing else, there is the insurance for her. 
She refused Bachmann' s help because he was a Jew. 

Jutta. Too proud! And because he was a Jew? 

Sam. I guess she is right. Ha — ha! Money that comes from a 
Jew is not looked upon as clean. But, you bet, if sheliad really needed 
it, she would not have hesitated. She would have soon overlooked his 
money being unclean. I'm only sorry for Miss Stella. The poor girl 
wants to do what is right, but I am afraid she is not strong enough to 
make her way in this hard world. 

Selkofsky. She lost in her uncle a good advisor. She will always 
know what is right. 

Sam. That is just why — -don't you see, Mat? With her good sense 
and her kind heart, people will laugh at her when she administers 
justice. Laugh! Have you ever been laughed at? Have you ever 
felt the humiliation of sarcasm? If she was mine, I would end her 
life 

Jutta. Sam! Sam! 

Selkofsky. Why you would kill her? 



36 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Sam. Why? Because of what she will have to suffer — suffer at 

the hands of the unscrupulous brutes 

(Voices are heard outside.) 

Selkofsky. (Looking at his watch.) It is already seven o'clock. 
(Jutta and Sam carry table into other room.) 

Sam. You see if I'm not right. She will not be able to fight 
through life. 
(Jutta exit Enter twenty workmen — ten Hebrews and eight Christians — 

and two apprentices. One after another the workmen enter, take their 

places, rubbing their eyes, and stretching themselves, shaking the rain 

from their coats and hats.) 

Koller. There's a beautiful day again. 

Kruse. Ba! Good for ducks. 

Hintse. And now to work again. 

Linde. You must be working for glory, the way you like it. 

Hintse. Not exactly for glory. But there is one thing — you don't 
have to think very hard when you work. 

Kruse. Say! Did you hear? Brandenfells is really dead. Nobody 
seems to know whether he shot himself or if somebody else did it. 

Hintse. He shot himself. 

Kruse. How do you know? 

Hintse. I heard Lange say so. 

Koller. (Sarcastically.) If Lange says so, it must be so. 

Hintse. I beg your pardon, my dear sir. Lange is too much of 
a gentleman to tell a lie. 

Koller. Yes, you are right. He's too much of a gentleman. 
He only prevaricates. 

Hintse. I like your insinuations. We ought to be glad that some- . 
thing else did not happen. 

Koller. What do you mean? 

Hintse. We can thank our stars that Lange didn't commit suicide 
instead of Brandenfells. 

Dohring. What did you say? Eh? You hypocrite, you! 

Hintse. You better not say that again. Everybody knows that 
we had to thank Brandenfells for the reduction every year. 

Dohring. What! Are you blind? Can't you see that Lange is 
pulling the wool over your eyes? 



MODERN JUSTICE. 37 

Hintse. I don't think! I know Brandenfells was a man 

Dohring. It is only since Lange is here that we are driven like 
dogs. He is the scoundrel. And you are the biggest mutton-head I 
have ever run across, if you can't see that 

Hintse. (Raises his fist.) None of your lip now, or I'll hand you 
one that your chin will be flying around your ears. 

Koller. Don't get excited, Mister, you might hurt yourself 
After all, you are a pretty good natured old fool. 

(Hintse goes for him, when Bachmann enters.) 

Bachmann. Keep quiet, now, boys. We'll soon have a perform- 
ance without you making one. 

(Pause for a moment.) 

Schulse. There! These fellows run him down, and are only too 
glad to work for him. 

Muller. They don't know what they want, anyway. When they 
get their money Saturdays, they go and blow it all in, and when it's 

gone, they start ripping him up the back 

(Woman with bundle enters.) 

Bachmann. That belongs upstairs, Mrs. Mayer, You can come 
down afterwards and get your money. (To Selkofsky.) Take a 
dozen No. 18 and three dozen No 24 and send it up. What order are 
you working on, Isidor? 

Isidor. I. B. 82. 

Bachmann. That's right. I'm waiting for it. (Exit Bachmann.) 

Schmidt (To Muller.) Did you hear — Lange subscribed three 
hundred dollars for the missions in India? 

Sam. India? India? With all the misery in the town, they send 
thousands and thousands to India, and people here can go without 
bread 

Isidor. That's it — what you call social conditions — you under- 
stand? 

Dohring. Hurrah, Isi — open your mouth for once. That's what 
they sometimes call Christianity. 

Schmidt. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, to talk like that 
as a Christian. 

Dohring. My dear friend, no religion has ever helped me any. 
My boy is a cripple, because I could not pay for a doctor, and no Chris- 
tian took pity on him. 



38 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Muller. Perhaps you soaked all your money? 

Dohring. Soaked! With nine dollars a week, and a family of 
seven, there's not much left to spend in drink. 

Muller. I haven't got that much, and save out of it 

Isidor. A mule can live on less 

Muller. What did you say? (Schmidt jerks him with his elbow.) 

Isidor. That you are full of prunes. 

Muller. (Rises excitedly, while others laugh.) You sheenies hava 
more gall than bed bugs. 

Schmidt. I told you to keep your face shut. You'll never get the 
best of a Jew. 

Schulse. That's right, Bert, one Jew is as smart as ten Christians. 

Sam. Yes, it takes a lot of brains for it 

Muller. You got all your brains in your nose. 

Sam. And you in your fist. 

Schmidt. Oh, shut your face. You want to argue with those 
sheenies, and besides (points at Sam) he thinks he knows it all, anyway. 

Linde. You are scared of that fellow, eh? He can beat you all. 
He knows what he is talking about. (To Sam.) That's all right, Sam. 

Sam. Shake, my friend. (Offering his hand.) I, hope you are one 
of us. 

Linde. I can't. As much as I'd like to, I have too much respon- 
sibility. 

Sam. Too bad. One less. 

Hintse. (Pointing at Linde.) Just look at him, will you? I 
didn't think that scare-crow could count five. 

Muller. I suppose he knows what he is talking about. (Rests.) 
My God! I'd rather work fifteen hours, if I didn't have to work amongst 
these Jews. (Bachmann enters.) 

Bachmann. (Who heard him.) Remember, my dear man, that I 
am a Jew. 

Muller. I didn't mean you, Mr. Bachmann. If they were all like 
you, I wouldn't mind. 

Linde. (Aside.) His bread and butter. 

Sam. (Aside.) Such cowards, what they are. 

Bachmann. I am afraid you are mistaken. You don't know me 
yet 



MODERN JUSTICE. 39 

( Jutta enters with a number of envelopes ) 

Jutta. (To Bachmann.) Mr. Lange say he no pay anodder cent. 

Bachmann. All the better. He'll meet me half way. 
(Mrs. Mayer enters, Jutta offers her a chair, saying a few pleasant 

words to her.) 

Jutta. (To Bachmann.) Anyding else you want me to do, Mr. 
Bachmann? 

Bachmann. No, Mrs. Elsan. I'll see him myself. 
(Jutta exit.) 

Bachmann, (To the men.) Men, you all know I returned your 
money to Mr. Lange, on account of the ten per cent reduction in your 
wages. Here it is again. I guess that reduction stands. You hear, 
Mrs Mayer? After this you have to be content with five dollars forty 
cents instead of six dollars. 

Mrs. Mayer. I no can work for the money, Mr. Bachmann. I not 
yet pay my rent. No make enough money. 

Muller. I'm satisfied. 

Hintse. So am I. 

Schmidt. So am I. 

Schulse. And I. 

Bachmann. Well, then, here's your money. (Turning to the 
others.) Boys, don't take that money! 

(Ike and five women enter.) 

Ike. Mr. Bachmann, I see Mr. Lange yesterday and asked him for 
my money, and he 

Bachmann. And did you get it? 



Ike. He no give it to me. And he asked me 

Bachmann. All right. I'll see that you get it. 

Sam. Let's strike, fellows, if we can't get our money. (Drops his 
tools and rises. Several join him.) 

Several. Yes, we'll strike! Let's strike! 

One of them. If we can't get it in peace, we'll fight for it. 

Sam. Drop your work, boys. 

Hintse. Why? I don't care. I'm satisfied. 

Strikers. Down with the work, when we tell you 

Sam. As long as we are here, nobody will do another stroke 

Hintse. We certainly got in a hell of a crowd. Why! they're 
anarchists. 



40 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Muller and Schmidt. Anarchists! 

Bachmann. Easy, gentlemen. Anarchists are not cannibals. 

Muller. For God's sake 

Schulse. (Pointing to Linde and Dohring.) Those two are 
socialists, I know. 

Muller. Anarchists or socialists, all the same they are not fit to 
feed to the hogs. 

Bachmann. You had better keep your mouth shut. You only give 
yourself away and show your ignorance. 

Schulse. We read and hear enough of it. They don't chase them 
all over for nothing! In Germany and other places, they fire 'em out 
as soon as they get ahold of them. Nobody wants them. 

Schmidt. Why can't they do everything openly? 

Bachmann. Why? Because they cannot. Because 

Schulse. Because they can't! That's just why 

Muller. {Poking him with his elbow.) Why don't you let him 
talk. Let's hear what he's got to say 

Schulse. (Pushes Muller aside.) Oh, let me go! We would like 
to — to — and because we would like to and we can't — that's why we 
got to be satisfied. I'd rather take a dry crust than no bread at all. 
The idea. Anarchism! Ha — ha — ha! Ain't it ridiculous? A lot 
crazy notions that will never be ; and only make a whole lot of us 
miserable. 

Linde. You are waking up, ain't you? Anarchism is more than 
you can swallow, and now you are going nutty over it 

Schulse. Shut up, you cabbage head, or I'll give you a rap across 
the face. 

Muller. Go on, Bill, go on! 

Schulse. You have all kinds of promises about the Golden Land. 
(Sarcastically.) Take, for instance, your free love. (Coughs uneasy.) 

Sam. That's all he can say 

Dohrtng. His tongue is getting twisted. 

Schulse. Wouldn't that be nice? Now we can love only one, 
then we could love them all. No, fellows that bait won't do for me. 
If I can't be better off, I stay where I am. As long as we can get our 
feed, what do we care? 

Scmhidt, Muller and Hintse. Good for Bill! That's right, Bill! 



5q 




MODERN JUSTICE. 41 

Sam. Too bad about him. He should have been an orator. 

Linde. He's getting softening of the brain 

Bachmann. My dear fellow, I believe you wanted to say something, 
but don't know — what — you must have heard something somewheres. 

Dohring. The darn fools. You ought to get twenty-five lashes 
every morning and night. 

Koller. They ought to smash them blockheads. Perhaps they'll 
begin to think a little more 

Hintse. Darn you! We won't stand foi that! (Rolls up his 
sleeves and darts towards Sam.) 

Schulse. What's the matter with you? That ain't the one! 

Hintse. You can't fool me, that's the leader all right. 

Koller. Easy, easy, my dear sir. A little fresh air might do you 
good. (Hintse. Muller and Schmidt are forcibly ejected. Schulse 
has taken cover in the background.) 

Schulse. One never knows what you dogs are up to. You are 
pretty sly, ain' t you ? It's a good thing we have police. Eat and booze; 
that's what you like; but work 

Dohring. Close your trap, you 

Bachmann. Don't bother with him 

Sam. Fire him out ! (Schulse is ejected.) Now we'll go and 
demand our rights. 

Several. And if we don't get it. 

Sam. We must, we must, and if we don't, he can pick up his bones 
from the floor. 

Bachmann. Don't be rash, Sam. Don't you see that you cannot 
do anything this way? We have enough examples. Have you ever 
succeeded with Anarchism? 

Dohring. See how Anarchism has grown during the la. t fifty years. 

Bachmann. To be suppressed the world ove*- 

Sam. That's right. And the more it is suppressed the stronger it 
grows. 

Bachmann. Tell me, boys, what have you accomplished so far? 
You kill one, and another takes his place. What is the difference? 
Conditions have turned you into revengeful beasts. Your demands 
are just and right, but the course you follow is foolish. Is it a wonder 
the world turns against you? Choose a more humane course, to accom- 
plish your purpose. 



42 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Koller. Hang the highwaymen. That's all they are, and all they- 
deserve. 

Bachmann. There are other ways, in which to secure justice more 
quickly. (Sam shakes his head. Bachmann walks up and down.) 

Kruse. What good is all our enthusiasm, our hatred of our oppress- 
ors, if we roam about unorganized, without a level-headed man to lead 
us to success? 

Bachmann. (Stops.) Let me tell you , boys, theie is only one thing 
that can save you, that is this (pulls out roll of bills). (Bachmann con- 
inues to pace up and down. Linde approaches Sam, exchange some 
words, shake their heads, then shake hands. Linde exit.) 

Bachmann. (Stops again.) Boys, FL lead you 

Several. What? What? You, Mr. Bachmann? Hurrah! Hur- 
rah! Three cheers for our leader. 

Bachmann. Now, listen. The next thing we do, we leave this 
country. We go to America, where we are free men. There, we'll 
commence all over again. I'll go right now to make the necessary 
arrangements. In an hour I'll be back, and I hope you'll all be ready 
to follow me. (Bachmann exit.) 
Jews. (Start to sing.) 

"Ho, for America — 
Where the streets are paved with gold — 
Where nobody jeers and jars us — 
Where in justice the Jew may toil — 
Give us a little slice of mother earth — 
Where a Jew can make his home — 
To eat and drink around his frugal hearth, 
Where he can call his life his own. 

Ho, for America!" 
(While they sing, Lange enters enraged.) 
Lange. What's all this? What does that mean? Be careful, 1 
tell you. Brandenfells is no more. Now I am boss. Sam, you get 
out at once. Get out, I tell you. There are hundreds who are glad to 
take your job. 

Sam. No, sir, he does not have to. He goes of his own free will. 

(Lange looks surprised.) 
All. We are all going. 



MODERN JUSTICE. 43 

Lange. Scoundrels! This is how you thank me for feeding you 
all these years. 

Several. What about our labor and health we sacrificed for you? 

Lange. Wait; I'll spoil your plans for once. (Tries to leave the 
room. Ike intercepts him.) 

Ike. Don't be in a hurry, my good man! My wife dead, and I 
have no more to lose. Now, how much money you owe me. I want 
you give it to me. 

Others. We all want our money! 

Lange. Beasts! (Noise outside. Lange trembling, all listen.) 

Jutta. (Enters in a fit) Sam! Sam! (Pointing to Lange.) 
This wretch! Oh, this wretch! (Sits in a chair lamenting.) 

Sam and Selkofsky. (Perplexed.) What is it? What is it? 

Sam. (Running towards her.) What's the trouble? What is it? 
(Lange tries to get to the door. Several hold him back, threatening him 

with scissors, etc.) 

Dohring. You stay right here, you follower of Christ! Your day 
of reckoning has come! 

Several. Give him what he deserves! Lynch him! Hang him! 

Lange. You dogs, you ! 

Sam. (Steps up to Lange.) A poor, defenceless woman, though 
you despise her and her dogs, was a welcome morsel to satisfy your 
lust. Come here, you scoundrel! 

Lange. Let me go! Let me go! You shall all have your money! 

Sam. Don't want your money! Come here, or I'll stick these 
shears into you! 

(Lange steps trembling up to Sam. Thunder and lightning outside.) 

Lange. The Day of Judgment has overtaken you! See the light- 
ning! Do you hear the thunder? The Lord will punish you! 

Kruse, Dohring and Koller. Hypocrite! Shame! 

Sam. May the day come! Yours is here! If the lightning strikes 
anybody, it will be you, you villain! (Slaps his face.) 

Several. Hang him! Kill him! 

Sam. Don't you know me, scoundrel? Do you remember when 
you carried on your dirty work? 

Lange. You? (Enraged towards Sam.) You, who gave me that 
reception of rotten eggs? 



44 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Sam. And you low-down blackguard, who did your best to incite 
the world against the Jews. It was for Brandenfells that I kept the 
peace! Now I'll have my revenge. 

Lange. Don't be revengeful. Some day you will have to answer 
for it. Be generous. All I have is yours! Have mercy! 

Sam. Why should we care to show you mercy? We will finish the 
good work you have started, and deliver our fellowmen of their oppressor 
by sending you into the next world. Here, boys, you have just cause 
to satisfy your vengeance. Hang him! The outcast of humanity! 

Lange. You are responsible for my life! Don't kill me! Don't! 
Don't! 

Sam. A good Christian! Ha — ha! — that is afraid to step before 
his Creator. Haven't you done your duty as a good Christian? 
Haven't you tried to rid whole cities and countries of the despicable 
Jews? Haven't you forced thousands of families into misery and 
starvation? Haven't you torn the father from his children, and the 
husband from his loving wife, because he was a Jew? Those wounds 
you have torn are still fresh. Listen, you coward! Listen to what I 
tell you! The tears of your innocent victims cry for revenge! (Holds 
his hands before his eyes.) Wounds that will never heal! (Lange tries 
to escape.) Your efforts are useless! Listen! Not satisfied with your 
contemptible desires and successes in Europe, you crossed the seas, to 
continue your crimes in distant lands. I followed you, step by step. 
I swore you should not escape me. (Lange tries frantically to free 
himself.) Never mind, you villain! Your time has come! (Lange 
laments.) We'd rather go to the gallows than let you live. Console 
yourself, sooner or later fate would have overtaken you. Take care cf 
him, men, and give him his medicine. 
(The men crowd around Lange, who cries pitifully, put a rope around 

his neck and throw him from the window. Immediately Chief three 

police officers and Schulse enter.) 

Kruse. Cops! Look out! I told you Schulse was a sucker! 

Chief. In the name of the law, you are my prisoners. (To the 
officers.) Arrest them and put them in irons. 

First Officer. Which one? 

Chief. Any one of them! That one, there! 

Officer. Never! That's my best friend. He's all right! (Some 
try to escape.) 



MODERN JUSTICE. 45 

Chief. Stand, or I'll fire! (To the officers.) Do your duty, 
officers! 

Officers. What? Our brothers? They haven't done us any 
wrong! 

Chief. Are you crazy? Do as I command you. (Pulls his re- 
volver, while the officers cover him. Chief paralyzed with fear. Sam 
scornfully.) 

Dohring. It is a good thing we have police, eh, Schulse? 

Officers. Au re voir. (Exeunt.) 



46 MODERN JUSTICE. 



ACT IV 



Scene 1. 

Scene: Charity office, New York. In center a long desk, to the 
right, bookcases and five chairs. A railing dividing the room in half. 
In front of rail, on both sides, a bench. 
(Berger, man about thirty, bookkeeper, at his desk. Office boy at the 

window plays with shade. Stella enters, large paper box on her arm.) 

Stella. Pardon, me, sir, could I please see the gentleman in 
charge? 

Berger. You are speaking to him now. 

Stella. Could I please ask your assistance? 

Berger. What is your want? 

Stella. I feel very sick. I have consumption. The doctor told 
me I could not live much longer if I stayed here. 

Berger. And what is it you want? What do you want me to do? 

Stella. I would like to ask you if you could not please help me 
to get transportation. 

Berger. Any Tom, Dick and Harry might come here and ask that. 

Stella. But I assure you, sir. 

Berger. Yes, we know all about that. Soon people would come 
here and ask us to make a trip around the world. This is not a tourist 
office. We help, and we help willingly, but only where it is really called 
for. 

Stella. I assure you, sir, I must get away from here. The doctor 
says I may not live another three months here. 

Berger. Why, then, don't you work, until you have enough 
money together? 

Stella. I work as much as I possibly can, but everything goes to 
the doctor and for medicine. Could I hope, sir? 

Berger. I've told you once before. This is not a tourist office. 
There are other cases, as for instance, widows with six or seven children. 



MODERN JUSTICE. 47 

Stella. I believe you, sir. But there are people who would like 
to, but cannot, work. 

Berger. (Shrugging his shoulders.) If it's work you want, I 
might get you a position as servant; and outside of a few groceries, and 
a night's lodging, I'm afraid we cannot do anything for you. 

Stella. I am working all I possibly can. For God's sake, what 
shall I do? For two weeks now I have tried to get a little assistance. 
Have you no pity? 

Berger. Have you no relatives or friends who could help you? A 
pretty girl like you 

Stella. Sir. I have nobody. The woman who has taken pity on 
me has barely enough for herself 

Berger. Well, the best we could do for you would be a half-fare 
ticket. Where do you want to go? 

Stella. To Colorado, sir. 

Berger. That would be about thirty-two dollars. 

Stella. I haven't a cent, sir. Where, for heaven's sake, could I 
get so much money? Beg, I cannot; and steal, I must not. What 
shall I do? Tell me. 

(Pause — Berger looks at his watch.) 

Berger. Well, then, I suppose you'll have to work until you get 
the money. (Takes his hat. To boy.) I am going out to lunch, Frank. 

Boy. All right. (Takes his place at the desk.) 

Stella. Is that all, sir? 

Berger. That's all. (Exit Berger.) 

Stella. (On her way out notices sign of CHARITY OFFICE.) What 
mockery! To the weary and sick this sign stands out like a beautiful 
dream, as a last hope, at last to have found a human soul who will 
have pity on the sufferings of the poor, miserable wretches! And to 
your mind comes the beautiful legend of the good Samaritan, and the 
sublime teachings of Christ, to alleviate your pains and sorrows; only 
to find that these letters are meaningless — dead. And who knows how 
many unfortunate souls have shattered their last hopes on these golden 
letters, that lead to ruin, only to lose all faith in humanity and perhaps 
end their worldly troubles! Oh, God! My God! When will light 
dawn upon us? When will darkness subside and these deceitful 
rays brighten to the eternal star of hope and truth? 



48 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Scene 2. 

Scene: Mrs. Lansky's home — poorly furnished, but neat. 
(Mrs. Lanskt, Mrs. Geisler, Lorens, Stella, Bachmann, Selkof- 

sky, Mrs. Soupa. Mrs. Geisler lively rocking herself, with hat on, 

gloves in her hand, dark, middle aged.) 

Mrs. Geisler. {To Mrs. Lansky.) Did you say you expected her 
back any moment? It's already half an hour. 

Lansky. I dunno where she is. She go to town, to deliver work. 
You in a hurry, Mrs. Geisler? I tell Miss Stella, she go and see you — 
yes? 

Geisler. No, no, I don't want her in my house no more. 

Lansky. {In surprise.) What's the matter Mrs. Geisler? You 
all de time like Miss Stella. She show me a letter when you invite her 
to stay mit you. 

Geisler. Yes; that time I didn't know her so well. Tell me, 
Mrs. Lansky, have you many gentlemen callers? 

Lansky. Some time come here Mr. Mayer, Mr. Brown, or Mr. 

Geisler. Wasn't she closer acquainted with these gentlemen? 

Lansky. Maybe. I dunno how you mean? 

Geisler. {Aside.) How do you mean! My, isn't she stupid. 
{Aloud.) Don't these men court her? 

Lansky. What do you mean — court her? 

Geisler. {Aside.) That woman hasn't the least education. 
{Aloud.) Doesn't she flirt with them? 

Lansky. Flirt? I dunno. She talk mit everybody — make no 
difference, rich or poor, Jew or Christian. She all de time say some- 
thing good. Always have bright word for everybody. 

Geisler. That so? It's no trick to fool you; but I'll open your 
eyes. She doesn't flirt around here, because she's picked out my Rudy. 
I admire her taste, but I won't have it! The idea! My Rudy and a 
girl that hasn't a rag to her back. 

Lansky. Maybe. I dunno, Mrs. Geisler; but I think you no got 
right. 

Geisler. You'll change your mind — look at this. {Produces a 
letter.) See what she wrote my Rudy. Four pages of it. I thought 
I'd drop dead! 

Lansky. Maybe, Mrs. Geisler. I no care how long de letter is. 
What's in it? 




Struggle for existence 



MODERN JUSTICE. 49 

Geisler. That's the worst of it. She is in love with my Rudy — in 
love up to her ears. 

Lansky. Maybe. I dunno. But 

Geisler. Listen for yourself. I'll read the letter to you. (Reads.) 
"Esteemed friend: This, my letter, will hardly come as a surprise to 
you, all the more, as I believe, to have discovered in you one as having 
a desire to be enlightened." (To Lansky.) You understand? She 
has noticed, that, since she has been making goo-goo eyes at him, he 
is getting kind of restless, and before he can get away, she wants to 
tell him how much she's stuck on him. The poor boy! (Reads.) "I 
will 

Mrs. Lansky. (Interrupting.) Maybe, I dunno; but 

Mrs. Geisler. But what? 

Mrs. Lansky. I call Mr. Lorens. He is a educated man. He can 
read the letter and tell us. I dunno. He is honest, Mrs. Geisler, and 
he reads awful nice. 

Mrs. Geisler. Call him, for all I care, and let him read it loud. 

Mrs. Lansky. (While going out.) Maybe, I dunno, but 

Mrs. Geisler. (Alone.) That woman makes me sick with her 
"maybe, I dunno." These people are awful ignorant. 

(Pause. Mrs. Lansky enters in a cheerful mood.) 

Mrs. Lansky. He come right away. You see what a fine man he 
is. Such a treat to talk mit a educated man! 

Lorens. (Enters.) Hello, Mrs. Lansky! What is it? You want 
me to mind your baby for you ? 

Mrs. Lansky. (Laughs.) No, not for me. (Somewhat bashfully 
introducing.) Mrs. Geisler, Mr. Lorens. 

Mrs. Geisler. (Aside.) My, how homely! (Aloud.) Pleased to 
meet you. Mrs. Lansky told me you could read so well, and that you 
were unprejudiced in your judgment. 

Mr. Lorens. (Bows.) What can I do for you, Mrs. Geisler? 

Mrs. Geisler. Here is a letter. (Hands him letter.) I guess it 
does not matter from whom. Will you please read it to us, and give 
us your opinion — w'll you please? 

Lorens. Let me see what it is. (Sits down, examines letter.) 

Lansky. Loud. 

Geisler. Loud, if you please. 



50 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Lorens. Patience, ladies, let me get my bearings. {Pause. Com- 
mences to read.) "Esteemed Friend: This, my letter will hardly come 
as a surprise to you, all the more as I believe to have discovered in you 
as one who desires to be enlightened" 

Geisler. {To Lansky.) The same as I read to you. {Every time 
Geisler interrupts Lorens, he fixes her from over his glasses.) 

Lorens. {Reads.) "I will give you an explanation, though I 
hardly know whether this confession on my part will tend to strengthen 
the intellectual ties between us, or whether it will estrange us. Who 
knows, my friend" 

Geisler. "My friend." Isn't that lovely? 

Lorens. {Reads.) "Friend — a term so much abused. A relative, 
an acquaintance — whom do we not call friend — mere formality, con- 
forming with the usages of society, or business, or as circumstances may 
demand." (Lorens interrupting himself.) True, very true! {Reads.) 
"Who appreciates the true meaning of the word friend? What sublim- 
ity, what true love and purity does this meaning convey — of which only 
followers of the highest ideals can be conscious, and only 'he' who can 
appreciate. ' ( Lorens interrupting himself. ) Correct — very good! 
(Mrs. Geisler looks in unpleasant surprise ai Lorens. Lorens con- 
tinues to read.) "And although but for a moment I have enjoyed this 
happiness, I can fully appreciate the token of your sincerity. You " 

Geisler. My son! My Rudy! Her 

Lorens. {Reads on.) "You, Rudolph, only know my desire — my 
ambition. You know my past and my circumstances, which, dark as 
they appear, have not been able to destroy what fate had in store for 
me. But how to obtain my aim? for which I have hoped and prayed 
fervently. I see fulfillment of my highest ambition before me. Suc- 
cess! Still a deep gulf separates me from it. Friendless, I have trav- 
eled this hard road. A misstep,, and I sink into oblivion. I feel" 

Geisler. I don't know what she could mean by that. 

Lorens. I believe you, Mrs. Geisler. {Continues reading.) "I 
feel the enormous weight of the onward struggle, against cruel fate — 
threatening to send me to destruction. But there I see a ray of hope. 
I feel, I want to grasp your hand to guide me." 

Geisler. Now it's coming — listen 

Lorens. {Reads.) "I meet the kind, beaming eye of a man, con- 



MODERN JUSTICE. 51 

scious of his power, full of energy, immovable as a rock. It was you, 
Rudolph, I looked up to." 

Geisler. The idea — calling him Rudolph — think of it! 

Lorens. (Reads on.) ''Our intellectual intercourse seems to con- 
vince me that we have something in common. Our paths lead to the 
same goal, and what joy overcomes me at the thought at last to have 
found a helping hand, a true friend — who would lead me. to reach that 
ideal future for which I have struggled so long." 

Geisler. Pshaw! 

Lorens. (Reads on.) "I wonder do you understand? Do not 
think me bold. Extend me your helping hand as a true friend, and 
should fortune favor me or not, I shall ever appreciate your sacrifice.' ' 
(Holds letter, and studies a while.) 

Lansky. What you think, Mr. Lorens ? 

Geisler. An up-to-date proposal. 

Lansky. What do it mean, in de letter? 

Lorens. It means, pearls cast before swine. (To Mrs. Geisler.) 
Beyond doubt this letter is addressed to your son. 

Geisler. Yes. Do you know my son? 

Lorens. No. Did your son hand you this letter? 

Geisler. Not exactly. A mother naturally takes an interest in 
her son's affairs. The letter dropped out of his coat pocket, you 
know. 

Lorens. Accidentally, as it usually happens. Do you want to 
hear my opinion? 

Geisler. Mrs. Lansky called you for that purpose, didn't she? 
(Dignified.) Though I think I can judge for myself. One thing sure — 
it shows the artfulness of a woman desperately in love. 

Lansky. (Busies herself around stove.) Maybe. I dunno. But — 

Lorens. These are the sorrowful pleadings of a deserted human 
heart — in its almost superhuman efforts, on the way to eternal light — 
not a word of love, not the least that could be construed as improper. 

Lansky. I dunno — but that's what I thought. 

Geisler. Do you want to tell me, Mr. Lorens, that I am altogether 
unable to judge? I have a splendid education. My brother is a very 
rich man — and belongs to the aristocracy. 



52 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Lorens. I do not doubt that in the least, though all that has very- 
little influence on the character and disposition of a person — something 
that no money can buy — but finds itself in the make-up of humanity. 

Lansky. I think so myself. I dunno; but 

Geisler. Listen, Mr. Lorens, when Mrs. Lansky spoke to me about 
you, I expected to find a man able to judge human nature better than 
that. 

Lorens. {Curtly.) Very sorry, if you are disappointed. 

Geisler. I see this much, that you are easily mislead by smooth 
language. Or perhaps you are a little in love with her yourself. 

Lansky. {Angry.) Go on with you! He never seen her at all. 

Lorens. {Impulsive.) And I see this much, that here ignorance 
and narrow-mindedness go hand in hand to attempt to degrade aspira- 
tions of a soul that is far beyond your sympathy and comprehension. 
Allow me. {Bows. Exit Lorens.) 

Geisler. {Disappointed.) Well, well! That's something new! 
The audacity! 

Lansky. You asked him his opinion, and he give it to you. 

Geisler. So you mean to say he is right? 

Lansky. Maybe. I think he is right. 

Geisler. Do you know, Mrs. Lansky, you really have too good an 
opinion of that girl. You know what she called you? Shee-nee! I 
bet she is over to my house now waiting for Rudy to come to supper. 
{Picks up gloves and pocketbook from table, accidentally drops letter.) 
She'll find out who I am! I'll send her flying about her business. 
Remember one thing, Mrs. Lansky: He that puts his hand in the fire 
burns his fingers, and that's what will happen to you. Good-by. I 
must go. I'd like to meet her before she goes. {Exit Mrs. Geisler.) 

Lansky. {Shaking her head.) Maybe, I dunno. {Presently Stella 
enters, box in arms.) 

Stella. How do, Mrs. Lansky? 

Lansky. You home, Miss Stella? {Takes box from her.) Bring 
some more work home? {Aside.) How she looks! It makes my 
heart ache 

Stella. Here is one dollar and sixty cents, Mrs. Lansky. Forty 
cents is for the medicine and ten cents for alcohol, to do my work, the 
rest is for you, towards my board. I feel so weak, so weak, Mrs. 
Lansky. I feel I cannot live, and yet, I cannot die: 




Exstinguished Light 



MODERN JUSTICE. 53 

Lansky. Miss Stella, I got some soup for you. You like so much, 
ckf you good. (Puts supper on the table.) 

Stella. Thank you very much, Mrs. Lansky, you are so kind. 
(Sits down to eat.) 

Moses. (Enters.) Hello, Miss Stella, you hungry? Leave the 
dishes. Ha — ha! 

Stella. (Laughs.) Don't be afraid. How are you, Mosey? 

Moses. (Aside.) Poor girl! Poor girl! (Sits down on the sofa 
with a sigh.) 

Lansky. You see Mrs. Geisler? 

Stella. Mrs. Geisler? No; what should I do there? When I do 
go, they seem to take so much trouble, with the cooking and everything 
else, and you know how I hate these formalities. Outside of that, they 
seem to be real nice people, 

Lansky. What kind of a man is Mrs. Geisier's son? 

Stella. Rudy? Ah, he is an exceptionally intelligent man; and 
I wish he was home oftener. Then I would feel like going there. 

Lansky. Maybe. I dunno; but (Stella, after hardly 

touching her meal, sits down in rocker.) 

Stella. Again you say, I dunno. Say you do know, and if any 
one wishes to dispute it, let him prove it. 

Moses. (Watches her with a sigh.) The poor girl! 

Lansky. Really, I dunno, Miss Stella. You know, when I say 
anything wrong, people laugh. 

Stella. People do not laugh because you say anything wrong; 
it'is because they don't know better. 

Moses. Right she is. 

Lansky. And I have no education — or 

Stella. That is not always necessary. The main thing, you have 
common sense. You can well distinguish between right and wrong; 
you only lack the courage to defend your right. You must not always 
look up to others as your superiors. They are only human beings after 
all. 

Moses. Jenny, I think she is right. 

Stella. What did you want to say, Mrs. Lansky? 

Lansky. Can exist friendship between man and woman? Married 
man and single woman, or married woman and single man? 



54 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Stella. WelL what do you think? 

Lansky Yes; I think so. 

Stella. That's right. A man and woman can be true friends in 
any case. 

Lansky. But then, they must love each other. 

Stella. Why should they not? (Lansky and Moses look at one 
another in surprise.) It all depends on what people understand by 
love. Merely to gratify our animal desire is not love. 

Moses. I think so, too, Jenny. 

Stella. The term friendship conveys too pure and lofty a thought 
to admit of any immoral purposes. 

Lansky. I dunno. Not many people exist, I think, who — who 

(Tries to express herself.) 

Stella. Who are capable of understanding such pure affection. 

Lansky. Yes, that's what I mean. 

Stella. You are right, Mrs. Lansky. The majority misconstrue 
such principles. Education and society prescribe the destiny of 
average mortals who adopt rules, forms and fashions, to guide them. 
They are accepted as law, and passed from one generation to another. 
To these they are slaves. Furthermore, everything is estimated 
according to worldly values. Depravity of mind and body are general. 
Things in this world are merely a matter of price. If a man intends to 
start up in business without the necessary means, he looks about to 
make a match, and with a convenient amount of self-deception, the 
conventional arrangement is entered into, without, of course, consider- 
ing congeniality of character as though human character itself can be 
trimmed to pattern, as dress or manners. Ridiculous; no, abominable! 

Lansky. Wonderful, Miss Stella. I wish I was half what you are. 

Stella. Don't wish that, you would be much unhappier. You 
are suffering enough as it is. 

Lansky. Why you tink — are people who tink and are just, so 
unhappy? 

Stella. Why? Because people who elevate their minds to justice 
and kindness towards their fellowmen soon discern the deep-rooted 
evils of our present social conditions. A righteous mind revolts against 
the unnatural and narrow laws which keep humanity in darkness and 
lower it to the beast; and the worst — humanity has itself to blame, for 



MODERN JUSTICE. 55 

the chains that keep it enslaved. Savage competition forces men to 
take advantage of their very neighbor — worse than that, forces them 
to aggravate the sufferings of their own kin. Regretful as it is, these 
pitiable beings, in spite of all the noble teachings and sacrifices of our 
modern Jesus, refuse to be enlightened. In the course of time, mind 
and emotions have become dull, under the pressure of these ignoble 
forces — yes, to a great extent, have degenerated. But how can we 
condemn them, where they deserve of sympathy and pity? Humanity 
has degenerated. People have become mental cripples. 

Lansky. (In surprise.) Modern Jesus! Has there been only one 
Jesus? 

Stella. Yes, in those days. Nowadays we have more. 

Lansky. But Jesus suffer — suffer very much. 

Stella. So he does. Little humanity knows of his sufferings. 
He walks about his fellowmen, trying to comfort their sorrows, himself 
with a heart bleeding from many wounds. (Rises, greatly agitated.) I 
should like to retire for a moment; will you pardon me? (Stella 
exit.) 

Lansky. Yes, go my dear. (Commences to clear off table. Moses 
takes his hat, fingering it nervously.) 

Moses. She look awful bad; you know, Jenny. 

Lansky. I dunno, what will I do if she go? 

Moses. She must go, Jenny. She no can live here very long, 
Jenny. 

Lansky. I know, Mose, I know. But what I do, when she is 
gone? Nobody so nice to me, so good. She always understand me. 

Moses. She go soon? 

Lansky. I been to the Hebrew Charity to-day. They give her a 
ticket first-class free. Christian Charity no wanted to give her, and 
she cry so much, all day. But I no can part from her. Mose! I can 
no live mit'out her. 

Moses. Ta-ta-ta! Jenny! You no must be selfish, Jenny. 
(Rises.) I'll go. Come back to-morrow. (Looks at Stella's photo 
on the mantelpiece with a sigh.) Poor girl! The poor girl! 

Lansky. (To the door.) I go along, and buy bread. (Both exit.) 

Stella. (Enters.) Nobody here? (Sits down at table.) I am so 
tired and such pains in my head and chest. (Opens box, takes out pieces 



56 MODERN JUSTICE. 

for flower making, lights alcohol lamp and commences work.) Lansky 
enters softly and watches her for a moment. Stella suddenly drops her 
head on the table. Lansky, terrified, approaches, takes lamp and all, 
and throws out of the window. 

Lansky. {Lamenting.) My, oh my, oh my! Is she deathly sick, 
and yet must work. 

Stella. {Raising her head.) Mrs. Lansky! Mrs. Lansky! What 
are you doing! All my work! 

Lansky. The devil with your work, you no work any more. 

Stella. My God! {Picks up pieces about her.) 

Lansky. Maybe, I dunno — he can do the work himself. Goodness 
sakes, what misery, and how she looks, so sick, so sick. 

Stella. {Picks up letter which Mrs. Geisler dropped. Hurt.) 
What is this? How does this get here, Mrs. Lansky? 

Lansky. {Aside.) And that, now! It will break her heart. 

Stella. Would you not tell me, Mrs. Lansky? 

Lansky. {Aside.) I no can tell her a lie, and I no can tell the 
truth. My, oh, my! what shall I do? 

Stella. Mrs. Lansky! 

Lansky. Mrs. Geisler was here. She forgot. {Sighs.) 

Stella. How did she get it? That letter belongs to Now, 

what do you want to do with it? What did she say? 

Lansky. {Aside.) I dunno, what — what can I tell? What on 
earth can I say? {To Stella.) She say nuddings, Miss Stella, she 
only laugh. 

Stella. {Stirring.) She laughed? Is it possible! He too? 

{Sinks back into her chair.) And I must live under such Uncle, 

why did you not take me ? 

Lansky. {Helpless.) Stella, Miss Stella, no take it so hard! 
You get help to-day. Hebrew Charity give you a ticket. 

Stella. The Hebrew Charity! {Livens up.) Is that true? A 
ticket to Colorado? I can live and reach my aim? Friends! How 
shall I thank you? So Jews again are helping me? Christian Charity 
closed its doors on me. In vain I appealed to the petrified hearts of 
the followers of Christ! What mockery! 

Lansky. {Aside.) What, for heaven's sakes, I do when she go? 

Stella. {Taking Lansky' s hands in hers.) My dear, dear friend! 



MODERN JUSTICE. 57 

How can I thank you? Tell me how? It would be impossible, yes, 
ridiculous, to try to express what I feel. Words cannot express what 
I owe to you. 

Stella. Perhaps some day I may be able to return your kindness 
to me. (With the last words she grows weaker — breaks down.) 

Lansky. Come, Miss Stella; you can't stand up. You too sick. 
(Leads her to a chair.) 

Stella. (Takes up letter, again looking it over.) Oh, how that 
hurts; how it hurts! (Breaks down completely.) 

Lansky. (Catching her in her arms.) Stella! My only Stella! 
You no must die! You no must leave me. I can no live mit'out you 
Oh, oh, oh! (Knock on the door.) 
(Bachmann, Selfoksky and Mrs. Soupa enter. Mrs. Soupa, holding 

ticket in her hand, remained in the door a moment, overcome. 

Lansky. Oh, Mr. Bachmann, Stella! They have killed her! 
Oh, oh! They have broken her heart! (Bachmann and Selkofsky 
carry Stella to the sofa.) 

Soupa. I fear we are too late. 

Selkofsky. (Startled, terrified.) Is it possible? 

Bachmann. (Looking more closely at her.) Stella Brandenfells! 

Selkofsky. So Sam's prediction came true. 

Bachmann. Poor, poor Stella! (Softly, to Mrs. Lansky, giving 
her some money.) Will you attend to her burial? We will send you 
more money if you need any. 

Lansky. Oh, oh! They have killed her! People what call them- 
selves nobility — aristocracy! 

Soupa. Aristocracy? No, my good woman, but those insolent* 
heartless individuals, whose only purpose in life is money. Whose 
only happiness lies in mammon. 

Lansky. (Scornfully.) All people what have money call them- 
selves nobility. 

Soupa. No, no! It's not what people would like to be, but what 
they really are. 

Lansky. Maybe, I dunno. Who are the nobility if not the rich? 

Soupa. Only people who are noble minded and just can lay claim 
to real nobility. 

Lansky. Poor people too? 



58 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Soupa. Poor or rich; all those, or, better, only those who are above 
everything that is low and narrow. 

Lansky. You find many people that way? 

Bachmann. Very, very few, Mrs. Lansky; to our sorrow, 

Selkofsky. Indeed, very few! 

Lansky. I dunno — but why do such people exist {'pointing to 
Stella) when there's no justice for them? I ask you — what she 
live for? Oh, oh! such misery and injustice in this world! 

Bachmann. Time will overcome this. We cannot force nature. 
Step by step we will advance as we better the social conditions of the 
masses. 

Selkofsky. Another victim of the terrible injustice of existing 
conditions. "Modern Justice!" Poor Stella! 
(Mrs. Soupa takes a bouquet of violets from her bosom and passes it 

between Stella's fingers.) 

Scene 3. 

Scene: Mrs. Lansky' s home. Lansky kneeling at side of Stella's 
coffin. Moses and Lorens on other side, heads bent in silent prayer. 
Moses and Lorens then turn to Lansky, who is sobbing, assisting her to 
a near-by sofa. 

Lorens. Do not let us disturb her rest, Mrs. Lansky. Let us 
bear our sorrows in silence. As great as our loss may be, let us bear it 
without a murmur, as poor Stella did. Her aim was high, and great 
have been her sufferings. Now death has relieved her. Let it be a 
comfort to our souls. Though she has left us, her memory remains 
with us; and let her kind heart be a guide to us, to travel the road of 
justice. 

Moses. Amen. 

Lansky. (Sobbing.) How can I? How can I? She was all that 
was dear to me. Oh! If she could only live again! 

Moses. (Wiping a tear in sorrow.) Jenny! Jenny 

Lorens. Look around you, Mrs. Lansky. You are not the only 
one left alone in this world. 

Lansky. I know! I know! But how can I bear it? 

Lorens. (Taking Lansky's hands.) Think of her (motioning with 
one hand to coffin). If she could see your sorrow, do you think it 
would make her more happy? To you she has been a friend, a true 



MODERN JUSTICE. 59 

friend. Has she not suffered enough? Her most exalted ideas shat- 
tered, her kind heart bruised by disappointments, a life of misery, laid 
to rest. Be true to your friend; bear her memory in your heart — and 
grieve not, since her sufferings are over. 

Lansky. (Sobbing.) Stella — Stella! (Knock on the door. Moses 
opens it. Mrs. Brandenfells enters with two women, one with wreath, 
the other carrying a package.) 

Brandenfells. (Entering in surprise.) Is this where she lived? 
(Stepping to coffin, while Lansky, Lorens and Moses look unpleasantly 
disturbed.) 

Brandenfells. (Reproachfully, with faked emotion.) And there 
she lies! Stella, Stella, my poor girl! (As she notices her poor dress 
and poor coffin) and dying in such poverty! Why did you leave me? 
Oh, oh! How shall I bear it! (The two women step up to coffin and 
place wreath at the foot, while Mrs. Brandenfells holds handkerchief to 
her eyes. Steps up to Mrs. Lansky.) You pardon me, my good 
woman. I am her aunt. I had no idea she was so sick. Oh — why 
did not anybody tell me? My poor niece; and to die in such poverty! 
Tell me, how did she die? 

Lansky. (Mustering her.) Mrs. Brandenfells? You? Is it pos- 
sible! And she die — because nobody would take care of her. 

Brandenfells. Oh, my dear woman! She was welcome in my 
home any time. She knew it; but she was too proud. 

Lansky. Maybe, I dunno. Too proud? She had too much self- 
respect, you mean? 

Brandenfells. Self-respect? She would have been in far better 
surroundings had she stayed in my house. Look at her poor clothes! 

Lansky. No, madam! She didn't care to wrap warm clothes 
around her body. What she needed was sunshine — sunshine for her 
soul. 

Brandenfells. Goodness! And she could not find that among 
Christians? And have you not sent for a minister? 

Lansky. (Coldly.) No, ma'm. Our religion was good enough 
for her, and I don't think your minister can make undone what she 
suffered. 

Brandenfells. But why didn't she come to me? Wouldn't it 
have been better for her if she had gone to a convent, as I wanted 



60 MODERN JUSTICE. 

her to? Surely, you are not going to bury her in this coffin, and these 
clothes? 

Lansky. Maybe — that's the best we can give her. 

Brandenfells. Oh! Then we must take her over to my house 
at once. 

First Woman. Isn't it terrible! 

Second Woman. {Starting for the door.) I'll notify the under- 
taker. 

Brandenfells. Yes, do, please. 

Second Woman. (To Mrs. Lansky.) Who is your undertaker? 

Lansky. What? No, ma'am, here she died, and here she'll be 
buried! You want to disgrace her memory with your profanity? 

Brandenfells. (Dignified.) Madam! 

Lansky. Did you take care of her when she was living? 

Brandenfells. Was that my fault? 

Lansky. Did you not order her from your house? 

Brandenfells. Because she would not obey! 

Lorens. (To Brandenfells.) Madam, you want to cause a dis- 
turbance over the dead body of one that was dear to all of us? 

First Woman. Goodness! 

Brandenfells. Sir, she is my niece, and as such I am nearer to 
her than any one else. (Lorens exit.) 

Lansky. Yes, you should have done! Now she is dead, you come 
here with your cheap trash (taking wreath from coffin) to disgrace the 
memory of the dead, and tear new wounds in the hearts of those that 
worshiped her. 

Brandenfells. You are too sensitive, my dear woman. Think, 
how I must feel. Isn't she my niece? You do not know what I 
wanted to do for her. 

Lansky. What you wanted to do for her? 

Brandenfells. Yes! But she was rather too particular for a 
girl of her class. See the opportunities she had. She could have 
married a wealthy man, she didn't want it. Then, when I wanted to 
send her to a convent, didn't she refuse? 

Lansky. To a convent? And marry a rich man? She could not 
live with a lie in her heart! She was too pure and noble. 

Brandenfells. Yes! And instead she preferred to run around 
in rags before she would 



MODERN JUSTICE. 61 

Lansky. Before she would sell soul and body. 

Brandenfells. Madam, do you want to insult me? 

Second Woman. Don't, don't! What can you expect from such 
people. 

Brandenfells. (Opening package and stepping up to coffin, looking 
at Stella's dress.) Goodness! The same dress she wore when she 
left my house. We have brought a nice white dress for her. 

Lansky. Such a hypocrite! Why do you bring this dress now? 
Why didn't you cover the body while there was life in it? Instead to 
cover the bones, that turn to dust? 

Brandenfells. That is a sin, my dear woman. You are unjust. 
You see, I am getting old myself, and who supports me? Must I not 
look out for myself first? 

Lansky. Maybe; I dunno. Who are these people? They walk 
about in silk dresses, and are afraid they might neglect themselves, 
and preach to others, love your neighbor as yourself. Is that right? 
And what you come here for? You never come here before. Did you 
ever ask before if she needed a dress, or something to eat? Now, you 
come here, to cover with a white dress the unkindness you have shown 
her? (Brandenfells and women dumfounded.) 

First Woman. Come, Rosa. You can't talk with this woman. 
See the class she belongs to. It would be beneath the dignity of a 
lady. (First Woman exit. Second Woman starts for the door, turns, 
around and waits.) 

Brandenfells. Wait! Wait! My God! I must know where 
she will be buried. I want to at least put a cross on her grave. 

Lansky. A cross? She has taken her cross with her, madam. 
She wouldn't need a monument to mark the resting place of one whose 
heart was broken by selfish and narrow-minded hypocrites. 

Brandenfells. Goodness, what a sin! 

Lansky. Or did you think that a cross could relieve her sufferings, 
and conceal your selfishness? 

Brandenfells. What? I? (Sobbing.) Stella, Stella, what have 
I done? 

Second Woman. Rosa, Rosa, I cannot listen to this any longer! 
Your kind words are wasted. 

Brandenfells. I can hardly believe it. She is dead. Oh, oh! 
(Starting towards the door, leaving dress and wreath.) 



62 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Lansky. Don't cry because she is dead — but "why" she died. 

(Brandenfells and Second Woman exit. Throwing dress and wreath 

into corner.) Such mockery! 

Moses. You done right, Jenny. 

(Enter Bachmann, Lorens, Selkofsky, Mrs. Soupa, two women with 
wreaths, and undertaker, all dressed in black. Men hold hats in their 
hands. Lansky, after a last look at Stella, starts to sob again. 
Mrs. Soupa and two women surround Mrs. Lansky, trying to comfort 
her. Then all surround coffin.) 
Bachmann. Let us pray. (Prays aloud "Lord's prayer.") 

(Lansky then falls in a swoon, assisted to sofa by two women. After a 
last look, undertaker closes coffin, places wreaths on same, then Bach- 
mann, Lorens, Selkofsky and Moses lift coffin and start for the 
door. Lansky comes to, and assisted by women, staggers after coffin, 
lamenting.) 



MODERN JUSTICE. 63 



ACT V 

Scene 1. 

Barroom. Sign in barroom: "Gentlemen will not and others must 
not spit on the floor." Several surround bar. Helling, Burgdorf, 
Lorens, Romeo, Mr. Milton, later Sam and others. Groth, keeper; 
Maxel, bartender. Round tables, in German style. 

Burgdorf. {Enters and shakes hands with Helling and Keeper.) 
How do, old chap? 

Helling. Shake, old man. You look as if you underwent a forty 
days' fast. 

Burgdorf. It certainly did go hard with me, God only knows. 
Several. (Drawing near.) Burgdorf, are you still alive? My, 
how we missed you. 

Helling. What became of you? What are you, anyway — poet, 
cobbler or tramp? 

Burgdorf. Now, then, you rascals! I hardly get back, when you 
begin to tantalize. (Somebody hands him a glass of beer. Holding it 
high, he toasts.) 

Here's to all Humanity, 

Where'er it may exist — 
Tis like Christian Charity, 
Enveloped in a mist. 
(Applause follows. Sets empty glass before him and becomes thoughtful.) 
Helling. What's the matter with you? Are you sleeping? 
Burgdorf. I dreamt, I dreamt I was in heaven. 

Aye, I counted them, there were seven. 
And in the highest one was I indeed, 
And rode the very grandest steed. 

But as I neared the Almighty throne 
From which universal wisdom shone 
The angels cried, "Come here, if thou be man," 
And thus, with pride, to enter I began. 



64 MODERN JUSTICE. 

My steed grows high, and with a sigh, 
Oh, shall I tell, I slipped to hell! 
Several. Bravo. 

Keeper. Too bad about that fellow 

Helling. Comrade, you are the same old fellow. They squeezed 
you like a lemon, but your mind is as fresh as a newly tapped beer keg. 
Burgdorf. Fool! Compare your own head to a hogshead. 

Helling. He needs but open his mouth 

A Jew. And he says something what rhymes. 
Helling. Right so. People ought to set you a monument in your 
lifetime. Shoot off. Let's have some more. You've got them by 
the bunches in your pocket. You need but whistle. I envy you. If 
you had as much money as you have sense, I would have done away 
with you long since. 

Maxel. (Aside.) If these people ain't bughouse 

Burgdorf. Thunder reigned and lightning too, 
As I went my way below. 
Thousand steps I waded through 
Till ne'er further I could go! 

Devil, Satan, king of hell, 
r Rose before me, horns and all. 

How, from where, I cannot tell, 

Seemed o'er-towering, broad and tall. 

Pleasantly he shook my hand, 

Asked me also for my name. 
Asked me also for my stand. 

Said I: "We are all the same. 

I "We are Christians, nothing more. 

Vice we hate, while good's our aim. 
Love and truth are at our door. 
Thus it is Lord's grace we gain." 

Fiercely scolded he and with anger roared: 
"Fools ye! Christians would ye be? 

Blood be-spattered gold ye hoard — 
Heaven you preach, but hell you see. 






MODERN JUSTICE. 65 

Full many a step now wandered we 
Until the scenes bewildered me. 
1 'This is yet nether land; 
But yonder see the hellish strand." 

Thus he spoke to me in haste 
As a thousand souls he chased 
Right beyond the border there 
Into the heart of the fiery glare. 

"Those are Christians that you saw, 
The kind that up like mushrooms grow. " 
Thus he spoke and looked around. 
And quickly vanished from the ground. 

I closed my eyes, then looked around 
And felt the downpour of a rain. 
Each drop sprang up a human form 
Until it seemed a human storm. 

They shrieked out fiercely all around 
But I could not tell sound from sound. 
Terror stared me in the face, 
It's there I knelt to say my grace. 

With laughter roared they loud and long 
Then screeched to me their heinous song 
"If ye fools but Christians were 
Why heal ye not the misery 
But yet excite it more to be? 

"Christ is but a teaching true 
Teaching never old nor new — 
E'er as pure as morning dew 

"Honor, justice, charity, 
Is true Christianity, 
Thus is Christ a rarity, 



66 MODERN JUSTICE. 

"Christ e'er lived upon this earth. 
E'er has been, ne'er needed birth. 
Thus your story ends in mirth. 

"Ye banish all your Tolstoi kind 
For there a Christian ye find, 
The only kind that hell declined. 

"But hand me down that rocky fellow 
Who lights the world with oil and tallow 
And rules it then with heart so hollow/ 

Several. Bravo! Bravo! 

Maxel. He makes me sick. 

Helling. You're a fellow after my own heart. {Pulling him by 
the sleeve.) Tell us, what did the world make out of you? 

Burgdorf. {Sarcastically laughing.) A whole lot. 

Helling. Joking aside! {Laughter.) Tell us, what are you 
doing, anyway? 

Burgdorf. Everything and everybody. That's why I came here! 

Helling. I know, I know! The devil couldn't do you. But 
what is your profession? 

Burgdorf. Traveler. 

Helling. Traveler? What kind of traveler? 

Burgdorf. Tourist — pleasure tourist. 

Helling. A — the devil. Speak English, that we may under- 
stand you. 

Burgdorf. Well, then, listen. I travel from town to town. If I 
am hungry, I ask for something to eat. If my suit becomes too trans- 
parent, I ask for another. 

Helling. I understand. But how do you travel without money? 

Burgdorf. I travel with four-legged people. 

Several. Four-legged people! ha, ha, ha! 

Helling. The devil take you, but how? 

Maxel. Four-legged people! There's no such thing. Bughouse, 
bughouse, that's all! [ | 

Keeper. Hard times, Maxel. He ought to be buried for a hun- 
dred years 



MODERN JUSTICE. 67 

One of Group. Look, boys, there comes Lorens! (Lorens enters, 
in large checked trousers and green coat, carrying large roll.) 

Lorens. Good cheer, comrades! 

Several. Well, I'll be darned. Bad money always returns. 
Welcome home! We need your money. 

Maxel. Well, well, I'll eat my hat! 

Burgdorf. God bless you, what ill wind blew you here? 

Lorens, The same, my boy, that blew when you honored America 
with your visit. 

Burgdorf. Fellow, you look miserable. Where in the world did 
you get those trousers? 

Lorens. {Views himself.) Well checkered and never patched. 

Helling. {Holds a torn piece up in the air.) Man, where you 
locked up? 

Lorens. What for? 

Burgdorf. Quite possible; he'd cheat the very gallows of their 
due. 

Helling. {Holds another piece in the air.) Why, man, you wear 
stripes. 

Several. Stripes? Impossible. 

Lorens. (Views himself again.) Ah, yes, you mean that was once 
upon a time a wrapper. Fine stuff; feel it. I had no money, and — 
presto — made myself a pair thereof. {Laughter follows.) 

Maxel. People have nothing but nonsense in their heads. 

Helling. Tell us, Lorens, where have you been knocking about? 
What are you? 

Lorens. {Seriously.) Traveler. 

Helling. {Laughs loud.) The same as this one? {Pointing to 
Burgdorf.) 

Lorens. {Comically.) What? You area traveler, too? 

Burgdorf. Hm! 

Lorens. Lazybones! I can't see why you shouldn't work. 

Burgdorf. Me neither. And you? 

Lorens. We-1-1, I'm something altogether different — can't you 
comprehend? 

Burgdorf. Hm! I'm too, something different altogether — can't 
you comprehend? 



68 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Lorens. Nay, it lays beyond the jurisdiction of my comprehen- 
sion. (Drinks.) 

Helling. (Takes roll of pictures from him, unrolls, and holds one 
high, showing in the foreground two men, tearing each other's hearts out, 
while humanity looks calmly on.) 

Several. Ah! 

Burgdorf. Thunder and lightning! What is this? Why, that 
is grand! 

Helling. Man, that is original, come here, traveler. Tell us, did 
you paint that? 

Lorens. I think so! 

Helling. That's superb! What does it mean? What does it 
represent? 

Burgdorf. (Points to the ceiling.) There! Read! 

Helling. (Looks above.) Quit your nonsense. 

Burgdorf. Well, then, don't ask nonsense. 

Helling. Man, you are a 

Lorens. Yes, yes, we all know about it. 

Several. The struggle for existence, great! Grand! This color 
effect. 

Helling. And the second one? Let's see the second one. (Holds 
up second picture. A young man, long hair, emaciated and forlorn fea- 
tures, holding a violin in left hand, the broken bow in the right.) Extin- 
guished light. 

Burgdorf. Lorens, that is beautiful! That is more than I 
would have expected of you. 

Helling. My highest esteem, comrade! 

Lorens. Can't support wife and family on that. (Leaves the pic- 
tures with the others, who pin them on the wall.) 

Helling. Boys, I'm sick of this. I think it's my turn to live 
now! 

Burgdorf. I shouldn't object, myself. 

Lorens. (Jumps suddenly around.) Same here, boys. 

Helling. Men, we are most miserable, cowardly creatures ! Here are 
two heads (points at Burgdorf and Lorens) to whom hundreds of these 
blood sucking vampires could not even hold a candle, yet they must go 
around with empty stomachs and striped pants. Ha, ha, ha, ha! 



MODERN JUSTICE. 69 

Damn it all to hell! (Pounds his fist on table.) Are we yet too weak 
to end all this? How long are we still to be led like sheep to mammons' 
altar, to be sacrificed? Even at tender age, when nature revolts and 
punishes with degeneration? 

Burgdorf. How beautiful it would be if everybody could act to 
his best ability, his desires, his talents, leaving full play for ambition 
for higher things. Then Christ would exist again. Just imagine such, 
men! Wouldn't that be grand? 

Romeo. (In background.) It would take human beings for that. 

Keeper. (Nods approvingly.) 

Lorens. Yes, it would be grand, if nobody would have to suffer 
hunger, and other physical and mental privations, but have full scope 
for free development; then we would not see the stamp of long hours 
and foul air of our factories upon so many pale and pinched faces. We 
would not see hunger and disease stalking, side by side with what were 
once nature's most noble examples of physical beauty and strength. 
We would not see womanhood trampled under the feet of debauchery 
and cast aside in the mire, with virtue finally extinct. A menace to 
morality? No, we would have human beings worthy of the name. 
Beings of strength and beauty, energy and character and love of life, 
in whom the mind would soar to inestimable height and purity. 

Helling. That's enough! Nay, boys, that must be ended, as sure 
as my name is Helling. Fetch us some beer, kinsman. (Sits down to 
table.) Come here, traveler, sit down and make yourself miserable. 
We have no right to be happy, for the happiness that we have is stolen. 

Maxel. Hm! I'm no kinsman of his'n. How some people do 
want to improve themselves by others. 

Some One in Background. Here is another genius. 

Burgdorf. Where? A light can be seen from afar. 

Romeo. (A long, meagre form, lifts one leg over the other and begins 
to sing.) Yankee Doodle Dandy. 

Burgdorf. Aye! To what category belongest thou? 

Romeo. Genus homo, specie krankuss. 

Helling. Then you'll have to eat Johnny-bread for seven years, 
and in the eighth wear striped pants. 

Romeo. Shall I do that and more. If I can become a full-fledged 
genius, shall I eat Johnny-cake for ten years and pork for twenty. 



70 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Lorens. {Lifts a paper from the table, "The Freeman.") Say, 
Helling, look and see what he writes. 

Helling. Go put that away, friend. When I see that, I could 
cry — cry for the stupidity of humanity. The man who edits that is 
three score ten. He sacrificed his whole life to the enlightenment of 
humanity, holding continuously before their eyes their degraded con- 
dition, and — and (Jumps excitedly.) To the devil with our soci- 
ety, with life itself. Come, comrades, toast. 

Maxel, Bughouse, bughouse! 

(A well-dressed man, carrying parcel, enters.) 

Milton. Damn it! What did I get into? 

Helling. Have no fear, sir, we are all sociable fellows. 

Milton. Yes, but (Pointing at the attires.) 

Helling. Oh, you mean — well, you see, we are rehearsing a fools' 
carnival. 

Milton A thousand pardons, gentlemen. A sort of a stag party, 
I presume. Permit me. my name is Milton. Shoe manufacturer. 1 
just obtained a patent for a little invention, and shall be pleased to 
have you all drink a glass of beer to its success. 

Burgdorf. (Sings German.) Bier her, bier her, oder ich fall um. 
(Maxel, after distributing the glasses, places himself with considerable 

importance in a prominent position, both hands in his pockets, whereby 

he exposes a picnic badge.) 

Lorens. Why, man, what mark of distinction have you there? 

Maxel. (A little embarrassed and with feigned indifference.) I? 
Oh! That, oh, yes — yes, that was once a great picnic and they gave 
prizes. (Withheld laughter.) 

Lorens. A flower that blooms unseen. 

Burgdorf. Yes, but for what? 

Helling. For what, Maxel? 

Maxel. Yes, ha, ha, ha, ha! They had three prizes: For men 
with brains, for those who could use their fists when needed, and for the 
one who had the most children, and I got the last two. (Laughter 
interrupts.) 

Burgdorf. God Almighty, who art in heaven! 

Helling. Have mercy upon us. 

Milton. That's the man. (Slaps Maxel on the shoulder.) 



MODERN JUSTICE. 71 

Keeper and Romeo. That's the man! That's him! (Helling 
and Burgdorf shake their heads.) 

Lorens. {To himself.) Dig into life, and where'er you may grasp 
it you will find it interesting. 

Milton. {Turning to Helling and Burgdorf.) With whom have 
I the honor, gentlemen? No doubt, all well-known merchants. 

Keeper. {Aside.) They'll present him with a fib that has no 
better. 

Helling. The pleasure remains with us sir. {Takes Milton's 
extended hand.) My name is Loudermilk, of the banking firm of 
Loudermilk & Polesky, of San Francisco. 

Milton. Pleased to meet you. French descent, I presume? 

Helling. I believe so. 

Burgdorf. My name is Biblizeckowen of the newly discovered 
gold mine in Eagle Pass, Colo., and this gentleman {pointing to Lorens) 
is a retired merchant. 

Maxel. Hasn't got a cent in his pockets. He makes me sick. 
(Milton and Lorens shake.) 

Helling. {Raises his glass.) Here's to everybody's health and 
prosperity. 

Milton. May it be granted. {Turning in the direction of the pic- 
tures.) That's a nice picture. Who made it? It almost looks like 
a lithograph. 

Romeo. {Aside, from the rear.) They'll make him believe the 
moon is made of green cheese. 

Helling. {Pointing to Lorens.) That gentleman. 

Milton. {Approaches pictures, Helling, Burgdorf, and Lorens 
follow him.) So, so. And does it pay? 

Lorens. No, I painted them for Art's sake. I did not expect them 
to pay. 

Milton. Excuse me; but you are a fool. There's no such thing 
as for Art's sake. Money controls everything. If you have money 
you have art. A friend of mine, when he came over here, was nothing 
but an ordinary Irishman. He became a politician, and you ought to 
see what an artist he is now. He's got some of the swellest pictures 
from Paris, which he bought himself. And his daughters — talk about 
your music — I tell you, when they play together, piano and banjo, and 



72 MODERN JUSTICE. 

rattle off the latest ragtime and coon songs; I tell you, they make 
instruments talk. But that — you only waste your time on. Time is 
money. Make money, and you can buy all the art you want. That's 
the way to do it. 

Helling. That's right, Mr. Milton. Step all over his corns. 
He's all full of just such nonsense. Instead of painting Gilt Signs with 
a big brush and making money, he sits all day long and daubs. 

Milton. My dear sir, in our great times, only he is a man, who 
has money. You may be the biggest scoundrel, but if you have money, 
you're "it" and you've got the respect of all the world, and if you go 
to church, you're simply a saint, and if you've money enough, you can 
pull the whole damn family along, make your wife a saintess and your 
children saintlets. But if you're poor, you may be ever so honest and 
intelligent, and go ever so early to church, and mean it too, but still 
you're nothing but a bum. Now, I am a business man, and have been 
all my life, and had to make my own living when only eleven years. 
Now, I've one of the finest libraries in the country, the prettiest books 
you ever saw, and I know what I am talking about. 

Romeo and Keeper. He's right. {Romeo takes box from the table 
and goes to the rear.) 

Helling. (Goes to Lorens.) Put that in your pipe and smoke it. 
The man is right. (Imitates a Jew.) Hab ich Dir nicht gesagt. Money 
is geld und business is geschaeft — remember that. 

Milton. A picture like that you can buy at 75 cents with a frame. 

Maxel. That's the only man here that talks sense. 

Burgdorf. Yes, cheaper still. 

Keeper. (Sarcastically.) My wife gets one like that without 
frame, wrapped around every pound of tea. 

(Burgdorf, Lorens, Helling and Milton sit down to table.) 

Milton. (Suddenly jumping up.) Where is my shoe? Who's got 
that box? 

Helling. (Aside.) That man must have a spring under his seat. 

Romeo. (From the background.) Beg your pardon, sir, if I have 
made so free. (Holds a shoe in the air.) That is the most elegant 
thing I ever saw. It|is simply artistic. (Places it on table and studies 
it. Milton laughs.) 

Milton. (Jumps up again.) Say, don't you copy that on me! 
(Goes and picks it up.) 



MODERN JUSTICE. 73 

Romeo. God forbid, we are all too stupid for that. 

Milton. (Rising.) Well, I must go. I must be in Washington 
to-morrow to attend to this business. I expect to make a lot of money 
with it. Good-by, gentlemen. I hope to see you in my store some 
day. Good-by! Time is money — time is money. (Leaves.) 

Keeper. Say, mister, you forgot to pay. 

Milton. (Turning back.) Oh, did I? Pardon me, it is not my 
habit. (Pays and leaves.) 

Keeper. Drop in again. 

Helling. (To Lorens.) Take that for an example! That's a 
man! Shame on you, you good for nothing ! 

Lorens. He's a genius. 

Romeo. (In the rear.) He ought to take a patent on himself. 
(Sings.) For he's a Yankee Doodle Dandy, etc. 
(Five men enter and sit down at table, one ordering five glasses of beer. 

One or two spit on the floor.) 

Keeper. Say! isn't that sign big enough for you? 

One of Them. That sign has nothing to do with us. 

Keeper. Wh-a-a-a-t? 

Another. We are free men, and we do as we please. 

Romeo. (Drawn.) Free men? 

First One. Yes, we are free men, and this is a free country. We 
harm no man, but those attempting to harm us, we simply mow down. 
We have the same right as anybody else. 

Keeper. This is a free country, all right; but I'll show you who's 
boss here. (Goes in front of bar. Maxel hides behind bar. The party 
disperses with murmurings and threats.) You better get out of this 
house. I'll show you right from wrong. There you are. (Party exit.) 

Romeo. (Interrupting.) That's where Maxel gets another prize. 
(Laughter. Maxel appears from behind bar, threatening with his fists.) 

Keeper. That's what calls themselves Freethinkers. Haven't 
the faintest idea of what it is, but feel themselves big when they can 
spit all over other peoples' feet. 

Burgdorf. You can't judge all by the actions of a few. 

Keeper. The majority are like that. 

Romeo. If such would run about at large, wouldn't that be a 
icnic. Holly Gee. 



74 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Helling. Fellow, you're a peach. 

Romeo. Am I a peach? Then I'll remain a peach. Takes too 
long to become a genius, and what's more, it don't pay. I'm going to 
make money. Then I'll get time. I'll sell my time and make more 
money. By that time I'll be a gentleman and teach Sunday-school. 
I tell you, time is money; and money is boss. 

Burgdorf. Come, Helling, let's have something from you. I long 
to hear one of the good old student songs. 

Helling. Certainly, with pleasure. (Stands up and sings.) Why 
ife enduring, drink not beer alluring. (Romeo in rear plays violin. 

Burgdorf. Who's playing there? 

Several. The original. 

Helling. (Sings.) Why should we not sometimes happy be? 
With life's keenest spices, 
Gambrinus's best devices, — 
Why should I not happy be? 

Nature's eyes now glancing, chrystal brooklets dancing, 

Nature's bosom heaving full of golden rye. 
Hop vines fully blooming, fragrance all consuming — 

How it makes my heart e'er sigh! 

Would in cellar lying, all the world defying, 

With a thousand kegs full, hail to Bacchus, hail! 

Drink to fullest measure, oft fermented treasure, 
Melancholy's cure without a fail. 

To his royal highness, who nigh died of dryness, 

Who enticed the brain to his noble brew — 
Him but I am praising, to the heavens raying, 

Where they first of nectar knew. 

When me Care embraces, Fate, with all her graces. 

Makes the maiden leave me, makes e'en Amor fly, 
To the drinkers' hall, then, for 'tis only then 

Life would nothing us deny. 



MODERN JUSTICE. 75 

(The last two lines are to be sung in refrain by all. It gradually, but quickly, 
grows dark. A curtain in back parts, exposing a structure some eight 
or ten feet high, composed of stone, on top of which the Goddess of 
Justice stands. On a step below, Two Workingmen, a Woman between 
them, grasping one another's outstretched hands, and appearing happy 
and contented. Bacchus on next step, right hand extended, holding a 
goblet. In a half-circle around him are placed busts of Schiller, 
Goethe, Marquardt, Mozart and Beethoven, decorated with vines and 
grapes. Each bust is embraced by a little girl, gaily dressed. To the 
left of the groups (about half height) Christ, on a cloud, extending 
blessings. Darkness gradually sets in again, and the following change 
takes place: 
Justice on top step, head thrown back, covering face with right arm, sword 
at her feet, while the left hand has sunk, holding scale, which appears 
disarranged. Below her, same groups of working people, though this 
time in rags, and chained together, heads drooped, and looking around 
in despair. Below these, a skeleton, dressed in monk's garb, in a 
crouching position. The busts around are disfigured, and decorations 
partly torn off, while little girls lie by them, apparently unconscious. 
To the left of groups, Christ, on a cloud, wreath of thorns on his head, 
his head drooped in sorrow; back of him cross is faintly visible. As 
second picture disappears in the darkness, group in front sits quiet for 
a moment, lost in thought. While they sit there, Sam, poorly clad, 
enters, gazing and staring, without at first noticing surroundings — 
gesticulating. As the group slowly raise their heads again, in surprise 
noticing Sam, he becomes horrified and delirious.) 
Sam. (Raving.) Don't cast those eyes at me! Spare me! Let 
me go! Let me go! 

Several. (Jumping towards him.) He is drunk! 
Sam. (As one touches him.) Let me go! Leave me alone! 
Helling. Sam, What's the matter? You are raving. 
Lorens. Sam, old boy, how did you come here? 
Sam. (Frantically warding them off.) Yes, I did it. I murdered 
them all. And it is for you, I did it. They murdered my wife,' scat- 
tered my children, killed my soul. They have made a beast; of me. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha! (Laughs heinously, sinks into a chair dazed. Curtain 
drops.) 



76 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Scene 2. 
sam's vision. 

Scene: Large public place. Early morning, at dawn. In the 
rear, houses reduced to chaos, with smoke yet rising here and there. 
Men, with stretchers, running to and fro. People carrying wounded 
moaning. A mass of people, of all classes, Sam in center defending 
himself desperately. 

Sam. Let me go! Let me go! Let me go my way. 

Selkofsky. {Pressing forward.) This way, Bachmann, this way! 

Bachmann. {Behind him.) The people run that way. 

Selkofsky. Let up, people! Don't be rash! Let me talk to him. 
{To Sam.) Why did you do it? {Highly excited.) Do you know what 
you have done? 

Bachmann. Sam, Sam, you should have gone with us! 

Sam. {Cynically.) Did you gain anything? 

Selkofsky. {Embarrassed.) Gain? Not yet what we wanted, 
but we have formed a society of human beings. We have lessened 
misery much — very much. 

Sam. Well, then, help here. 

Bachmann. That we will, and we want to help you, too. 

Sam. Me? 

A Jew. {Steps forward.) Sam, where is Jutta? Where have you 
dein child? 

Selkofsky and Bachmann. Where is your wife, Sam? 

Sam. {Surely.) My child? My wife? Jutta! Jutta! {Convul- 
sions overcome him.) Where is Jutta? You want to know? {Fran- 
tically.) I murdered her. With these two hands I choked her! 

Selkofsky and Bachmann. Sam! 

Several. Choked! That is not true! He's crazy! 

Sam. Said you crazy? {Stares into space and waves his hands 
frantically about.) Brothers, damn me, ; f you will. I tell you, I was 
not crazy then; I am not so now, comrades. I may be a murderer, I 
may be an incendiary, but I have a heart that beats as warm as yours. 
Do you believe me? {Cries like a child, and extends Selkofsky his 
hands, without looking up.) 

Selkofsky. I believe you, my poor friend. {Holds him by the 
hand.) 



MODERN JUSTICE. 77 

Bachmann. What must you have suffered, to sink so low! 

Sam. Sink so low? Oh, had you seen her, how she suffered (wrings 
his hands before his face) when she lay on the floor, with nothing to cover 
her but her clothes and my coat, which was torn to shreds. Oh! Had 
you heard her, how she begged for a bite to eat, for medicine! I had 
nothing, not even a piece of bread. Not a cent. Nothing, and no 
work. She begged'me to get a doctor. I had no shoes, so I ran bare- 
footed. 

A Jew. Nu — did he come? 

Sam. Yes, he come (laughs bitterly) and what he said. 

Other Jew. (Anxiously.) Well, well? 

Sam. Said he, "Give me money, and I will save her." 

Jew. One of our people? 

Sam. One of our people. I had no money. I had not a cent. 
He went away, not even so much as looking at her. Oh, how I felt! 
(Shakes his fist in the air.) How I hated myself, humanity, the world, 
and my wife because she got sick. Had I then the doctor, I would have 
put the knife into his heart. 

Jew. Nu, and your wife, she hear what the doctor said? 

Sam. She asked me if he leave her medicine. (Laughs heinously.) 
I say yes. Give it to me, Sam, quick, quick, she say. Then she looked 
at me! There! There! Take her away! (Raving.) I see her now! 
Take her away, I say! (Cowers from his imagination. Laughs and 
cries at the same time.) Oh, comrades, had you heard her, had you 
seen her! And I stood there and could do nothing. I could not give 
her my own flesh, my own blood. (Beats himself against his breast.) 
I had to look on! How terribly she suffered! I could help nothing — 
could do nothing — because I had no money! (Cries out in horror.) 
Yes, money, money! Base metal! Had I money, I had her to-day. 
(Suddenly looks wildly around.) Then I jumped at her and choked 
her till she was dead. (Suiting imaginary action to the words.) I gave 
her medicine. God Almighty could not, and humanity would not, 
help her, because she was poor. I did help her, comrades, did I not do 
right? Should I let her suffer so terrible any longer? I had not the 
heart to see any human being suffer so, but I had the courage to revenge 
myself on these unsatiable beasts who took from me and her the right 
to live. 



78 MODERN JUSTICE. 

Bachmann. Sam, you are sick. You need rest. 

Sam. Sick? I am sick. Your are right. Sick with hatred of 
humanity. My strength, my health, my very blood they sucked. No 
more am I a human being — nothing but a heap of misfortune. {Points 
a weapon to his breast. Selkofsky and Bachmann tear it from him.) 

Selkofsky. Friend, you must not do that. We will help you. 
We will save you. 

Bachmann. We will give you the rest you need. 

Sam. You can give me to eat, to drink; my physical want satisfy; 
but my soul, my spiritual rest, you can give me no more. Too much 
haA^e I suffered, too much committed. My heart is sore, my head is 
is sick, (During the last words, appeals and waitings are heard. Nearer 
and nearer, until another crowd appears.) 

Several. Where is he? Where? Where? Where is he? 

Others. Here he is! That's the fiend! Lynch him! 

Bachmann. Step back, people. One wrong will not right another. 
Let us hear what he has got to say. 

People. Oh, our loved ones! Give us back our loved ones! 

Sam. (Looking on dismayed.) Your loved ones? Give me my 
loved ones back — my parents, my sisters and brothers, my wife and 
child! With money I could have saved my whole family. I have sac- 
rificed my family. All I can give you is my life. 

A Well-dressed Man. Do you hear this wailing? Do you see 
these tears? All through you, you scoundrel ! 

Sam. You cry and wa ; l for your loved ones, and you are but a few. 
Could you see the tears, the woe, of the thousands and thousands who 
suffer through your fault! Give me back my loved ones and I will give 
you back yours. (Another crowd suddenly reaches the place.) 

Several. Where is he? Where is the beast? Down with him! 

One. Is that the teaching you want to give us? And you want to 
control humanity! Down with anarchy! Down with him! Dog, 
what have you done? With what right do you grasp with murderous 
hands at human life? Murderer! Incendiary! (Sam recoils.) 

Bachmann and Selkofsky. Away there! (Hold mob in check. 
Threats and curses are heard. A little girl pushes through the crowd 
to Sam, and cries.) 



MODERN JUSTICE. 79 

Little Girl. Dear, kind sir, give me my papa back. He is all 
I had. 

Sam. {Cries with emotion. Turns to Selkofsky.) For God's sake 
give me that weapon! 

Bachmann. You have no right to do it, Sam. 
Sam. {Holding back crowd.) No right! Humanity took my right 
to live, and you take my right to die. 

{Crowd closes in on him. It quickly darkens.) 
Selkofsky. {Hands him the revolver.) God be your judge. {Turns 
away overcome.) 

{Former scene in subdued light, Sam drops off chair, dead.) 
Bachmann. Sam, it is Sam. {Overcome, nervously holds himself 
with one hand upon table, the other to his head.) 

Selkofsky. Sam, my poor friend! For humanity you suffered; 
alone to die. 

the end. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



Mil 



017 400 056 6 I 



